


Focal Point

by wifebeast__s



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Black Widow perk, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Maybe 70 percent canon compliant, Moderate burn, Suicidal Thoughts, playing fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 09:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 62,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18333308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifebeast__s/pseuds/wifebeast__s
Summary: In the same vein as my Natural Born Raiders series - this story follows Boone and Courier Six down their path to romance.Craig Boone is a shell of a man, waiting for death, but living for revenge, when the stranger comes into town. After she helps him identify the culprit, he follows her to fulfill a debt and to meet his final fate. But that’s not quite how his story ends.





	1. Sights

**Author's Note:**

> This one got away from me. I wanted a short(ish) fic like NBR, but I’m 15 chapters in...and...we’ll see.

The figure appeared in his scope at the beginning of his shift, a silhouette against the night sky. The gait was relaxed, the shape clearly feminine. He grunted - not close enough yet for him to know if she was a raider, Powder Ganger, NCR. Not Legion, so she was probably safe.

With nothing else to do, he leaned against the mouth of Dinky and kept his sights trained on her. She was slowing. Tired, probably. Not a lot of places for rest in that direction - maybe from Nipton? 

That thought had him tightening his grip on the rifle. 

By the time her features were clearer - not as clear as they would be during the day, but clear enough - she was picking up her pace again. With Novac in sight, she’d be thinking about rest. Her leathers were worn, mismatched. Maybe...but no, not a raider. There’d be more of them, and she didn’t have the kind of energy that would come with Psycho.

All told, it was about a half hour of watching before she skirted to his right, disappearing beyond the edge of the dinosaur. 

By the end of the shift, he had all but forgotten about it, gathering his things to head back downstairs. To the point that he ignored the sound of the door opening behind him, ready to stonily ignore Manny, when he turned.

To instead see a woman. A few inches shorter than him, dark hair pulled back into a low bun, glasses perched on an oft-broken nose, dressed in recently patched leather armor. The woman from the road.

“Goddamn it!”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that. What do you want?”

The left side of her mouth tugged up, “Expecting visitors?”

“Yeah. I guess maybe I am,” he leaned slightly to the side, wondering where the hell Manny was anyway, “But not like you.”

Then again, he thought, thinking on the figure on the road, “Huh. Maybe it should’ve been you I was expecting all along. Why are you here?”

The woman looked past him, shrugged, eyes flicking back to his glasses, as if to look him in the eye, “I just wanted to check out the view.”

“There’s nothing up here,” he grunted, ready to push past her.

“There’s a sniper,” she grinned.

Not amused. “I think you’d better leave.”

She put her hands up in surrender and started to turn before he came to his senses.

“Wait. You just got into town. Maybe you shouldn’t go. Not just yet.”

She paused, hand on the door, “Why’s that?”

He gave it a second. Was this even a good idea? Too late now.

“I need someone I can trust.”

Another raised eyebrow.

“You’re a stranger. It’s a start.”

She huffed a sigh that could have been a laugh, “You only trust strangers?”

Her attitude pricked at his patience. His skin bristled, “I said it was a start,” he growled, “This town…”

She looked over her shoulder, back at him.

“Nobody looks me straight in the eye anymore.”

Definitely a sigh then, shoulders lowered somewhat, as she turned to fully face him, “What do you want me to do?”

She sounded resigned.

He forged ahead, “I want you to find something out for me. I don’t know if there’s anything to find, but I need someone to try.”

He bit his bottom lip, looked out at the street, “My wife was taken from our home by Legion slavers one night while I was on watch.”

He waited for the pity in her eyes. It didn’t come.

“They knew when to come, what route to take, and they only took Carla. Someone set it up. I don’t know who.”

She crossed her arms, “So you want me to track down your wife?” There was a hint of skepticism in her voice that made him scowl.

“My wife’s dead,” he spat, daring her to accuse him again, “I want the sonofabitch who sold her.”

The stranger straightened again. Still no pity, but there was an apology there, probably for her accusation. She had questions, but she gave a sort of grunt and uncrossed her arms, “What do I do when I find this person?”

Success.

“Bring them out in front of the nest here, while I’m on duty. I work nights.”

There was the ghost of a grin at that.

“I’ll give you my NCR beret to put on. That’ll be our signal, so I know you’re standing with him. And I’ll take care of the rest.”

She looked back at the door behind her, as if listening, then turned back, “I’ll see what I can do to help you out.”

“Good. I’ll make it worth your while. And one more thing. We shouldn’t speak again. Not until it’s over.”

The look she gave him made him feel stupid, like he was saying the most obvious thing in the world, but he ignored it, handing her the beret. She took it, shoved it into a pocket, and turned, opening the door quickly. He heard a muttered apology, a chuckle, and then Manny appeared. Before the other man could ask about the beret, he slid past and headed back to his empty home.

Sleep eluded him. He wondered how long it would take for this stranger to find what he couldn’t. Maybe never. But there was something in her that made him think...maybe. 

He would give her a week. One week and then...then he wasn’t sure. 

By the time his shift was starting, he had gotten what felt like twenty minutes of sleep, and all of it filled with blood and screams and horror. Crawling out of bed made his eyes scream until he put the shades on, stretched out the aching muscles. He fished out his old backup beret, staring down at the forgotten uniform until his alarm beeped, insistent, ripping him from his memory.

He rubbed his face, threw on a shirt, and slung his rifle over his shoulder, stepping out of the room. He felt the eyes skittering over him, trying not to land; he ignored them, as he made his way to the dinosaur. One week.

He was on shift for an hour before he saw the red.

Coming from the road on the right, just a flash of crimson, followed by the almost bored sashay of the woman - whose name, he realized, he hadn’t gotten. She was waving casually to the person behind her.

He lifted the rifle, hands tight, eyes boring into the spot where the traitor would appear.

Jeannie May Crawford rounded the corner, looking around confused.

The stranger was off to the side, gesturing. When the bitch turned her back, the woman made a shooting pantomime with a grin. Boone wanted to scowl, but his lips tugged upwards - she was right, after all.

The shot rang out.

Mist in the scope.

And then nothing. No peace. But it was done.

The stranger approached the body, toeing it with a boot before looking back up at him. He nodded and watched her disappear beyond the field of vision from the nest. 

A few minutes ticked by before the door swung open, the stranger kicking the chair to the side to sit, leaning her elbows on her knees and lighting a cigarette.

“That’s it, then.”

She shrugged, nodded.

“How did you know?”

She reached into her leathers, hand down the front of her jacket and shirt. He tensed until she pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. She handed it to him without saying anything. He read over it, eyes narrowed, heart thudding against his chest. He squeezed his hand around it.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’d be like them to keep paperwork.”

The stranger removed the hat, but he shook his head, reaching down to toss the small bag of caps her way, “Here. This is all I can give. I think our dealings are done here.”

She shook the bag slightly before dropping it haphazardly in her patched bag, taking a long draw on the cigarette. She hadn’t bothered to count it, to even look inside.

Silence descended. He wondered if she would finish and leave. He wanted to be alone. Or maybe not. He glanced down at the body of the person who had sold his family and wanted to spit.

The woman stood, dropped the butt and twisted it under her heel, “Course...she was just the person who made the money. What’ll you do now?”

Why should she care? Who even was she?

“I don’t know. I won’t be staying here. I know that.”

She breathed an almost laugh.

“Don’t see much point in anything right now,” he admitted, “except hunting legionaries.”

At that, her eyes lit up. 

Or maybe he imagined it, “Maybe I’ll wander. Like you.”

She stared past him for a moment, off to the East, where he knew the Legion camps were. Seemed she knew, too. And seemed she came to a decision, “Come with me,” she offered, not looking at him, “Let’s go after the Legion.”

Her words took a minute to make sense to him. She was asking him to join her? Why? 

“You don’t want to do that.”

Another arched eyebrow, “I thought snipers worked in teams.”

Was she army? Regardless, it shocked him into a half chuckle, “Yeah. Working on your own, you’re a lot less effective. I’ve been there and paid for it.”

She leveled her gaze at him. It was softened by the glasses, but her eyes pulled him in all the same. Dark gray, like steel, and just as hard, unyielding. He thought he could feel them scraping against his soul, sharpening her edges on him like a whetstone. 

“But this isn’t gonna end well.”

She grinned, a flash of teeth in the dark but offered nothing in the way of platitudes.

“Fine. Let’s get out of here,” he conceded.


	2. Nelson Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had won him over with the promise of killing legionaries, and as he learns, she is true to her word. Their first battle sees them in Nelson, where despite her efficient killing, he is surprised to see compassion. Also he learns her name, secondhand, and he tells her about First Recon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each time I write a chapter, I’ll post a chapter. Until I get to...wherever this is going. That way I’ll have stuff coming consistently down the pipeline. (She said confidently, as if she could make herself do anything consistently.)

His try-out, as she - Max- had called it, was a visit to the Repconn facility. It was a request from Manny, a name she dropped casually while studying him for reaction. 

“Not a fan?”

He had grunted, and she had graced him with an amused smile, eyes flicking to his beret, “You serve with him, though?”

“Mm. First Recon.”

“Tell me about First Recon. Sounds impressive.”

Something like pride kindled in him, and he nodded, “Sees a lot of action. Was sent everywhere on tour - hear they’re in McCarran now.”

She had pulled the matching beret from her own head - she had taken to wearing it, not that it bothered him; she was a good shot - studying it for a moment before smiling, “The last thing you’ll never see. Clever.”

“Accurate. And so were we.”

She grinned, “Don’t have to tell me. I’ve seen your shooting.”

Another tingle of emotion at that, which shifted in its color and tone when her eyes lit up, and she stared at him a moment, “You thought he was the one that I’d be guiding out on the road.”

His silence was her answer.

The pair had then gone on to help a religious cult of ghouls escape the Earth on a rocket. He passed whatever test she had in mind, apparently, because as they watched the rocket taking off, she had clapped his shoulder and laughed, nodding toward the East. She never went back to Manny to explain what happened, either, just walked right on past Novac, giving him a wink.

Which was how he found himself on the road to Nelson, rifle gripped tight, while the ranger explained the situation to Max. 

“This area is locked down by the NCR military until we can dislodge some Legion snakes from Nelson,” he was explaining.

It had been just over a week since Max had stepped into his sights, but already he recognized the look - flat and bored, her way of communicating that _yes_ , she knew there was Legion and _yes_ she was here to fuck up their plans.

The words that came out of her mouth, though, were as direct as ever, “What’s the trouble with the Legion?”

The ranger bristled, but elaborated, “They took Nelson while the troops were setting up. Captured a bunch of gear, took the town.”

At Max’s stony silence, he could only admit, with a sigh, “Couple of troopers, too. Got ‘em crucified down near the center of town.”

Her jaw clenched - subtle, but Boone saw the muscles and tendons working, grinding her teeth together, “I’ll help.”

The ranger raised an eyebrow, “And, uh, who am I dealing with here?”

“Name’s Max.”

Boone saw the flash of recognition. This was the second time it had happened in the week he’d been following her - first at the ranger station south of Novac, now here - that filled him with more questions. Who was she? How did so many people know her?

“I see. Well, guess it makes sense. None of my troopers are jumping in line to help. Maybe if you had some Psycho…”

At Max’s arched eyebrow, he switched tactics.

“Since that’s not likely, you could help me take out the Legions’ trooper hostages.”

_No._

He said nothing, but he stepped closer to Max, enough that his shadow, at least, would tip her off to his closer proximity. He didn’t want to do that again, didn’t want to be asked to shoot fellow soldiers.

“Trouble is, Ranger Milo doesn’t want to play. If we take out the hostages, they’ve got squat for leverage.”

Max’s shoulder brushed against his own for a moment, while she turned slightly toward the town, eyes squinting against the sun, “Why not try to rescue them?”

The ranger’s face soured; clearly this was an argument he’d had before, “Back at ‘Ranger School,’ they taught us not to run headlong into a battle when you’re outnumbered ten to one.”

His tone made Boone hate him, but Max only grinned, breathed out her almost laugh. People didn’t tend to get under her skin. She shrugged - the motion felt more than seen, “Fine. I’ll help.”

Boone couldn’t believe she would have agreed to that.

“Good. We clear out the hostages, and they lose their advantage. They’re down in a clearing, crucified on some telephone poles. I’ll cover you from the ridge. Just make it quick. These boys should be put out of their misery, not plinked to death with some old varmint rifles.”

He started to turn but stopped, looking at him, then Max, “And don’t get any dreamy notions about playing the hero and dragging these boys out. You’ll get swarmed. Now let’s go.”

Boone felt the air shift when Max stepped away to follow the ranger, and he realized just how close he had been standing to her. Without thinking about it, he had reached out and tugged her arm, so she was facing him.

There was a flash in her eyes - fight or flight, and he knew she’d choose fight - before they settled on him and softened to a question.

“To hell with mercy killing,” he spat, “we’re getting those men out _alive_.”

She stared at him in that way of hers, and he felt stupid. Of course she wasn’t going to kill them. It had never been her intention. His face must have changed because she grinned and nodded, clapping his arm again, before turning to catch up to Milo.

They crested a moderate hill that looked down on the town; that was a generous term. There were a few buildings, and as the ranger had said, in the center of it all, three troopers strung up to telephone poles. Despite the plan barked at them earlier, Max turned to Boone, effectively ignoring the ranger entirely.

“I want you up here. If it moves, it’s down. I caught sight of a tower on the hill there,” she nodded to the side, “and I’m thinking I’ll take them out. I’ll circle around. When you clear out from here, I want you on the high ground there,” she pointed to another tower that had been erected in the town. 

Boone lifted his rifle, sweeping over the terrain, “I see at least four. I’ll need three minutes to clear and take the new position.”

She nodded, “I don’t like this layout. You see there’s that other hill there - that means I’ve gotta be coming up through a valley. I’m going to take ED-E.”

The robot - she didn’t always activate it, so he knew this was serious. She pressed the commands into her Pip-Boy, “ETA 5 minutes. I’ll get started. When you hear shooting, feel free to jump in.”

She started to turn away, thought of something else and turned, grabbing his forearm. His eyes flicked down to the contact then back up.

“You gotta keep an eye on him, too,” she muttered softly, nodding toward the ranger, “if you think he’s taking them out, you know what to do.”

She didn’t wait for a response, just crept back down the hill and started through the narrow valley that would take her up to the ridge that she had indicated.

He settled in, lowering to the ground and tracking the routes of the legionaries below him. The furthest had a short coverage area - likely armed with melee weapons only, then - of about 15 paces. Another was rounding the perimeter, one rotation taking him about three minutes. Two more were in the immediate vicinity of the poles where the NCR soldiers were hanging. The perimeter scout had made three rounds before the first shot rang out. Shotgun - Max had first blood, then.

He lined up on the perimeter guard, having been focused on him already. One down.

There was another shotgun blast, its echo vibrating out of the hills, and just under it, the tinny sound of ED-E’s laser blast.

Melee guard was next. 

A rifle - not Max’s, then silence.

He felt his pulse quicken. Maybe he should go back her up. He took out the guard by the prisoners who was shouldering his weapon.

Still no shotgun blast to answer the rifle fire. _Fuck_. The last guard went down.

His eyes swept the hills to his left. ED-E was with her. They had a plan. Stick to the plan. He still hesitated, but there was no follow up rifle fire. Maybe she had gotten in close. It wasn’t her preference, but she was better at hand-to-hand defense than he was.

He slid down the hill and landed, picking up his pace to sprint across the open field below him. He took the stairs up the tower two at a time.

Max was right. The terrain here was shit, the tower bringing another hill into view. The gates were to his left, and a lone patrol on his right. There was no reason to keep hidden; the entire camp was in motion, and most of them were heading to the gates. That meant Max was still on the move, and he felt some tension dissipate.

The patrol on the right went down in one.

He heard the howls of their dogs. For a moment, he was at the slave camp. Dogs were snapping at Carla, while men in red shouted out their best offers. His chest felt tight, his vision swimming. He hated that sound. His next shot flew wide, hitting nothing. He hadn’t even meant to pull the trigger.

The distinct sound of a shotgun brought him back to the present, grounded him. He shook his head roughly and followed the sound with his scope. The blasts were coming frequently, and by the time he spotted Max, he understood why.

ED-E was behind her, shooting in short bursts, but it couldn’t get close without hitting her. One legionary had grabbed her hair, and a second was lunging at her. The dogs were snapping at her heels.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

He tried to train on one of the dogs, not trusting even his skills to take the one holding her.

The legionary in front of her dropped, his head blasting apart, flinging blood and brain matter over the entire scene. Max leaned forward, then pushed back violently, her head making contact with the man holding her. His hands dropped her immediately and went to his nose. She turned and loaded.

Boone took the shot and watched the man drop.

Unfazed, Max turned her reloaded gun on one of the dogs, and the carnage continued.

Within the hour, silence had settled. A tremble had taken residence in his hands, and he found he had to crouch against the low wall of the tower before he could catch his breath. The sun was rising, and with it the heat and the smell. His stomach rolled, and he leaned over, dry heaving until his stomach felt like one giant spasm.

“Boone?!”

Max’s voice came from a dozen or so yards away.

“Here,” he rasped, then repeated louder.

Silence for a beat, then, “Alright.”

She didn’t appear at the bottom of the tower and didn’t ask for him again. Maybe she knew, he realized. But...how could she? He hadn’t told her about what happened. He hadn’t told anyone. The memory of Carla’s beautiful face disappearing with the sound of his rifle belonged to him and him alone. 

He couldn’t stay up there forever. Maybe he could. 

But he remembered the soldiers below, tried to imagine Max getting them all down herself. It spurred him to action, using the wall to push up and make his way shakily down to the ground.

By the time he reached the telephone poles, he was upright and solid again, eyes sweeping over the scene. A lot of red. But there, in the middle, a leather-clad woman standing on precariously stacked crates and untying a soldier.

He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but the sound of it was soft, soothing. She was murmuring to the soldier gently, her fingers working diligently at the knots. When the man’s arms came loose, she took his weight, laughingly telling him that the fall wouldn’t kill him, at least, and Boone was shocked to see the man smile.

She had started on the second before he realized he should be helping and got to work.

When all three were down, she led them back, leading the charge with her shotgun to ensure that nothing got between them and the small roadblock ahead, and it wasn’t until they were all safely surrounded by other troops that she reported back to the ranger.

They were halfway back to Novac before he thought the thank her, and it somehow felt like not enough, so he kept his mouth closed.


	3. Nipton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Boone head back toward Goodsprings to follow up on a job. On the way there, they pass through Nipton, where she tells him about who she met, and they find a survivor who tips them off to a nearby slave party. They set out to add to their tallies, and Boone gets a look at what’s beneath Max’s armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Write a chapter, post a chapter. Just wrote Chapter 18. How did this happen?

After Nelson, Max was tipped off that there might be a job not far back, and she explained that she needed to pass through Goodsprings anyway, wanted to check in on the folk there.

They had agreed to stick to main roads after one-too-many run-ins with the local fauna, which had them passing by Nipton. 

Boone hated the place. He had passed through once and never thought of it again - a den of vipers, far as he was concerned. But there had been rumors lately…

“Saw smoke when I came this way. I thought about stopping, but it was just me at the time,” she explained, glancing between him and ED-E, “so let’s be careful.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if one of the residents had simply gotten a little too exuberant and burned down part of the town. The approach made it clear that it wasn’t the case. The smell of burnt flesh came off the town on a breeze, and he shared a meaningful look with Max, who slung her shotgun from her shoulder, examining it and nodding her approval.

They crouched low, skirting around the edge of town, the smell only becoming more pronounced. The sound of a still-crackling fire followed, and then weak groans.

The pair crept down a main avenue, approaching a large building on their right until it came to a crossroad. Max’s jaw dropped, as she stared down the thoroughfare that ran perpendicular to the road they had come down, lined with crosses bearing people in widely varying states of health. Beyond the street of dying men and women hung on display was the source of the smoke - a burning pile of tires, upon which were the charred remains of...someone. 

“Legion,” he hissed, and in her horror, she didn’t even give him the Look.

She lowered her weapon and approached one of the crosses, quickly inspecting the man tied up. Her jaw set, and she looked over at Boone, shaking her head.

At her silent direction, he turned toward the large building that they had passed. In unison, they approached the door. Max slid behind it, hand on the knob, and when he raised his rifle and nodded, she opened it.

The smell hit them immediately. Rotting bodies that had been baking inside the squat building for who knew how long. There was a growling, snapping sound, and a Legion wolf came loping from around a corner.

He took the shot, and it let out a sharp whine before falling onto the floor. Howls came from further in, and Max shut the door, shaking her head. 

An image flashed in his mind, then. Not the one he was expecting. This time he saw the moment in Nelson, Max fighting like a caged animal against the two legionaries and the snapping hounds. 

She backed away from the door and scanned the town. Most of the buildings seemed intact, and he saw, by the look in her steel gray eyes, that she was going to look for survivors. Despite his feelings about the place, no one deserved this. He followed in step behind her, as she headed to the first house.

 

 

Boone didn’t know when he had started comparing Max to Carla, but it had struck him one evening. Max didn’t talk as much, was what first occurred to him. Carla always had something to say, her voice cutting into the silence and distracting him from the noise of...everything. Max offered no such solace; she spent a lot of time quietly focused on a task, most often repairing or maintaining their weapons and armor, stripping down the old and reusing it to keep them killing efficiently.

And yet the quiet seemed to settle on all things around her, even him. The screams in his head were softer. The muzzle flashes duller. It was as if her silence was not an absence but it’s own presence, like the darkness of a moonless night that made it easier to move safely across open terrain or hide wrapped around boots to keep them muffled. 

She was also good at killing legionaries.

“Over the ridge,” she murmured, close enough that she could speak softly, and he could hear her.

He nodded.

“Guy said there were two of his buddies taken. I’ll head ‘round there. You do what you do.”

She clapped his shoulder, her signal that she was moving, and he nodded shortly.

The only survivor they had found in Nipton had called her a bitch, demanded Med-X, and only then told them what happened. Boone had known; Max wasn’t surprised, but when he said that two of his friends had been taken, he recognized the set of her jaw, the stance she took, and he knew that they would be going after them, no matter the man’s attitude toward her. Thus they found themselves a few klicks away, scanning a low depression in the hills, where some tents had been set up.

Max ducked back away, her movement barely making a sound, until she was down on flat ground again, skirting around the hill. He watched until she was out of sight before sliding on his chest and belly up the ridge. It was a defensible enough position, and he had a good line of sight - she was good at picking out places for tactical advantage. She had to be army, he thought, not for the first time. 

One breath. Two. By ten, the shooting had started.

He lined up his shots, focused on the soldiers over Max’s shoulders, as she got in close with her sawed off. 

A bullet ricocheted off of her shoulder pad, and he felt a chill seize him. The legionary who had taken the shot didn’t get another chance. He was the last to drop, of five. A small party, then - they hadn’t been expecting trouble. And why would they? The town of Nipton was...nothing, now.

He scanned the surrounding hills, making double sure, before he stood and jogged down the hill.

“Stay still, asshole,” she was muttering, by the time he made it to her side.

The would-be slaves were Powder Gangers, and he knew there was no love lost between the woman and the gang. That much had been clear from the interaction with the man in town. Didn’t stop her from helping, though. In the few weeks he’d been traveling with her, he had never seen her refuse help to anyone that asked.

The first of the prisoners was free, and he sprinted back toward Nipton, not even bothering to look back on his friend. He almost wondered if it was actually worth it, but then, spoiling the Legion’s plans pretty much took precedence over everything else.

When the second was scrambling over the hill, Max rolled her shoulder, looking down with a frown, “Damn. Think it’ll bruise.”

He opened his mouth, about to offer to look at it, but closed it again. He wasn’t a medic, didn’t know the first thing about how to help, so what was the point?

“Strip ‘em for ammo. You know the drill,” she muttered, shuffling off to one of the canvas structures without saying anything more about it.

The back of his neck tickled. He looked around at the bodies - a few of them had rifles, so ammo would be good. But the way she had rolled her shoulder stuck out in his mind. 

Max had disappeared beyond the flap of a tent. With a groan he marched after her. Least he could do, he told himself. No way to knock - he ducked around the canvas and cleared his throat.

“Let me help.”

She peered at him for a moment, “You know how to handle field injuries?”

His grunt was answer enough, but she softened, “Could use help getting it off the arm at least.”

He nodded and approached, fingers finding the clasp of the metal that sat on her shoulder. It slid down to the ground inelegantly, the sand making a whisper of its landing. She, meanwhile, loosened the top of the leather underneath, tugging it down her arm as far as it would go.

“Up,” he instructed, patting the bottom of her arm. 

She lifted her arm, a grimace flashing over her features for a moment. He tugged the leather away.

Already an angry bruise was starting to bloom, dark and swollen, starting at the front of her shoulder, just by her clavicle.

“Press on the bone,” she growled.

He hesitated, hand outstretched, but she stared at him until he moved, fingers finding warm, soft flesh. There was a moment of discomfort, something fluttering in him at the contact with her skin. Then he frowned and moved his other hand to the top of her shoulder to steady her, while he pressed against the bone jutting at the top of her chest. Nothing moved that shouldn’t - he knew that much at least.

A breath escaped her, pained, but she didn’t shout. Under his dark lenses, he stared at her eyes. Probably not broken; they were clear, not comfortable, but she could breathe and stand. 

He made it a point not to notice the firm muscle beneath the armor, her arms, shoulders, and chest clearly defined over years of...whatever it was she had done before traveling the wasteland with a washed up sniper like him.

She gave an experimental roll of the joint again, the motion creating a wave beneath the skin. A twitch of a grimace passed over her features, but still she remained quiet. After a moment, she gave a nod, and he helped her pull the armor back up and in place.

“Let’s grab what we can. Goodsprings’ll have what we need to restock.”

Boone nodded, thought about apologizing for not taking the shot soon enough, but then decided against it. She was alright, and the legionary hadn’t gotten another shot off, so he had done ok by her.

“Was good that you came out here. What the Legion does to slaves…they got what they had coming. Glad we were the ones to deliver it.”

His voice must have given something away because she stared at him for a moment, mouth open, as if to say something or ask, but she chose better of it, and nodded.

They finished their work in silence, and Boone found that his mind was blessedly clear for the duration.


	4. Goodsprings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair arrive in Goodpsrings, Max saying only that she has an appointment. He learns about what happened, about her own path to vengeance, and how where he has been waiting for death and gone on living, she had died and come back. Max’s story is told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from vacation and ready to gooooo

They made good time, all things considered. After Nipton, they made an almost entirely direct trip, following 15 North and getting into only a handful of scraps, primarily Powder Gangers that were monitoring the road. It was getting dark when they crossed into the town, and Max advised they should stop in at the shop before it closed.

Their rations had gotten low, and he needed ammo and a repair kit. Given his rifle’s number of mods, it wasn’t as easy to fix as some of the others Max carried. Least that’s what she had told him after staring at it for some time one night they made camp. Her exact words had been “where the fuck am I supposed to get this part? Did you build this yourself?”

He wasn’t exactly surprised to find that Max was welcomed with open arms in Goodsprings, the locals asking after her, giving her updates on their lives. She listened passively - she wasn’t demonstrative, but he had started to suspect that she appreciated hearing from the people who she had helped. Though quiet, it was always clear that she gave anyone speaking to her her full attention.

He found what he needed at the small trader shop in town, throwing the items on the counter without bothering to ask about price. Their rule was “keep what you kill.” It was fair, and it ensured they both had caps. Max split any fees with him, too. So it was embarrassing when he came up short, staring down at the weapon kit with a grimace.

She said nothing, just dropped a few extra caps into the merchant’s hands and kept going through the other items, studying some armor modifications on the wall.

For her quiet, her dark humor, her direct language, she never let him want for anything. It made him angry. 

That anger held on when she bartered for rooms for them, paid for both and for meals at the saloon - though the rate was more than fair; apparently she had fixed the woman’s radio once before. He had no right to be angry; she was being kind, as she often was, but still it picked at his pride. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t owe him anything, and he didn’t want to owe anyone, given what was coming for him.

He lay awake that night in the bed that Max had procured for him, thinking about it. 

Since they met, he had covered her in fights alright, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing most of the work, carrying his weight more often than not. Why? What was the point of him tagging along, anyway, except as an extra gun in a fight? One that had missed a few times already and didn’t stop her getting shot at Nipton. The bruise was still there, he knew, having spied her tending to it the other night.

And for that matter, why bother paying his way like that? 

Despite his discomfort, his own questioning, sleep came eventually, and when it did, it was wrapped in that flavor of silence that Max had introduced to his life. Deep, soft, and comforting.

The job turned out to be an appointment, and the house at the top of the hill was a doctor’s office.

Boone knew she got headaches, could tell the way she would squint her eyes, pinch her nose and stare down at the ground for a minute. There had been a few days that she had said nothing, just cleared out an old pit stop with gritted teeth until she could get inside and slump against the counter. Her breaths would come short and ragged until the pain ebbed or she was able to take something.

But the first time he saw why, it came as a shock.

“I thought maybe you wouldn’t make it for your check-in this month,” the doctor said when he opened the door, giving Max a stern look and Boone a once over.

She shrugged and stepped inside; he followed behind her, feeling awkward, like an intruder in what should be none of his business. He decided that the books and medical journals lining the wall were of great interest.

“How are the headaches?”

Max’s eyes flicked to Boone for a moment, only a moment of hesitation, “Better.”

She sat dutifully on a chair, and he watched with growing dread as the doctor pulled back the waves of her hair that were brushed back into the loose bun, revealing a long, crooked scar that ran from her temple back to just beyond her ear. Her hair was coming in, short and uneven, around it, but it was red and white, couldn’t be more than a couple months old, maybe even newer than that. It looked angry, even now. And painful. He was no medic, but he could tell it had been...the fact she was alive was probably a miracle.

Her wince didn’t go unnoticed, and she jerked away from the doctor’s hand, letting her hair fold back over the spot. She avoided looking at either of them, and Boone was happy to look elsewhere.

What the hell had happened to her? Did it hurt every day? How was she...how did she…?

“Mmm. You been taking the stims?”

Her eyes slid away.

“I told you - one per day.”

“Can’t afford that,” she huffed.

That made him think about his restless start to the night, the dinner he had eaten and the bed he had slept in. He felt a sinking in his gut - she needed to be taking regular medicine, and instead she was paying for their rooms and food?

“Gonna take longer to heal, then.”

“S’fine,” she shrugged.

The doctor shook his head and stood, “It ever get hot to the touch, you need to take it right away and find a doctor.”

She nodded.

“Any luck?”

She shook her head, “Guy in Novac said something about Great Khans and Boulder City. Figure I should head that way eventually.”

“Still going to pursue it then?”

She nodded.

The doctor sighed and stood, finally looking over at him, “You traveling with her?”

Boone shook himself to alertness. He could only nod.

“Keep an eye on her. Oh, and Max, found you that part to upgrade ED-E.”

“Thanks,” she looked down the hall where the eyebot was floating, still not letting her own gaze land on Boone.

The doctor nodded, “It’s on the bench,” and left the room.

When the doctor was gone, Max sighed and glanced at him, “Was shot in the head.”

She offered nothing further, and he was too shocked to ask. She either survived the shot or had been resuscitated. Something about that seemed almost poetic to him - he who knew death was coming to him, and she who had been given life.

She seemed smaller for a moment, sinking into herself, probably remembering whatever had happened. Maybe it was why she hated the Legion, he thought. Maybe they had been the ones to do it. Or maybe...someone she loved had done it, to save her from them.

His stomach clenched painfully, and he turned away.

“Sorry,” she breathed behind him, “I shouldn’t have...I know it’s gruesome.”

He was wrapped in his memories, her words not quite registering right away until he heard a shuffling noise and realized she had left the room. She had misunderstood his mood shift; he wasn’t always great at understanding people, but that at least was clear.

You don’t owe me an apology; no, I’m sorry; why didn’t you tell me...none of these words came out, and by the time he thought to say anything, it was too late. He had never been good with words.

Unsure of what else to do, and feeling the heavy weight of guilt about the cost of their stay settling over him, he left the office and went straight to the saloon. The bartender gave him a tip on a job - simple enough, clearing out the old school building.

It took him about an hour and earned him a couple hundred caps, which would be enough to pay her back. That’s what he told himself, anyway. Given what he had learned, he wondered if that was actually true.

With the sun starting to set again, he left the saloon and looked up and down the main street of the town. He hadn’t seen Max since the incident at the doctor, but a familiar shadow was up the road a ways. 

He needed to apologize, he knew, so he swallowed his discomfort and headed toward the shape of her.

She was standing just on the outskirts of a cemetery, gun in hand. He saw three dead bloatflies just beyond. He had no idea how long she had been out here, only that it had to have been at least an hour, given the state of them.

He cleared his throat.

Max’s gaze turned to him. Not steel this time. Gray like rain, like heavy clouds coming in over a mountain range. It slid back to what had captured her attention before - a hole in the ground with a mound of dirt next to it. A grave that had been dug up.

She waved at it nonchalantly, “I was a courier. Hired to carry this...chip.”

She dug into her pocket and retrieved a folded piece of paper, holding it out limply. Unsure what else to do, he took it from her hand and glanced at it. A platinum chip. Whatever the hell that meant.

“Couple of Great Khans and a guy in a pressed suit found me. Dragged me up here,” she paused, patting her pockets until she found a cigarette and a match, lit up, “put a bullet in my head.”

He swallowed, still holding the paper, looking at the grave, trying to picture it. It was easy enough to imagine technically, but he found the taste it left in his mouth, the feeling in his chest, was too much.

“Woke up with the doc. Guess some robot, Victor, dug me out and brought me to town. And here we are.”

It was the most she had said at one time since they met. 

He opened his mouth, the words on his tongue. About everything. About Bitter Springs. About Carla at the slave camp. But this wasn’t about him, he thought. 

She stared blankly at the spot for a while longer, and the silence that he created was not the same comfortable, easy thing that she offered. It was heavy, filled with all the things that he couldn’t say and didn’t think to ask her. 

Until she blinked slowly, shook her head, “Anyway. Who cares about a sob story like that, right? Here I am, alive and kicking.”

He turned to her - he should have said something. The time had passed. She was turning away and walking back to town. He took a final look at her would-be grave and followed after.


	5. Assassins on the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been quiet for days, and the pair have been almost chatty, given their normal dispositions. Something like friendship, Boone thinks. Just in time for the universe to remind him of his place when assassins find them, and they barely scrape out with their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was supposed be like 10 chapters? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

They left Goodsprings only to head back the way they had come, Max apologizing for the inconvenience, and Boone explaining that it wasn’t a problem. Other than the additional Stimpacks that the doctor had sent her along with, it was as if the visit to the town and the site of her gruesome past hadn’t even happened. She made no further mention of it, and he didn’t ask.

“Need to make a detour,” she said, breaking a silence that had gone on for hours, gesturing toward Primm.

Boone nodded, unconcerned. They would get to wherever they were going, he knew, and it was clear that she had made the Wasteland her business. He suspected part of her involvement was due to her drive to find out what had happened, as much as it was to distract from what had happened.

He also wasn’t surprised to find that the locals knew her, though when the NCR troopers across the way from the town welcomed her and asked her to join them for a drink, he was taken a little off guard. 

“Your bodyguard’s welcome, too. Hell, wish I had a First Recon guy looking after me.”

Max chuckled good-naturedly and gave his chest a light, backhanded slap, “Not a bodyguard but definitely good in a fight. He’s been helping me hunt down the Legion.”

“Good cause you got,” the soldier nodded.

She looked over the gap between the base and the town, “Things been quiet, then?”

“Yes ma’am. Even had a few people come into town to spend caps.”

“Well, shit, that is good,” she whistled, then waved vaguely toward something across the way, “I gotta go to the office. Not here for long.”

The soldier nodded, “Understood. Just come back by before you head out.”

“Got it.”

She inclined her chin, a subtle _follow me_ gesture that he had come to recognize. 

“Careful of the mines,” she offered before leading him across a narrow bridge. 

She led him into the town, down a side street, and into a Mojave Express office. The door shut behind them with an exaggerated sound. She pointed to a chair, “You can sit, if you want. I just gotta see if that sensor module is still here.”

This was another thing he had noticed about her - her memory was like a steel trap. Every piece of technology she had come across - names, faces, requests, resources - all of it she could recall in a moment’s notice. The Pip Boy she wore had to help, but nine times out of ten, it was just her own mind dragging the knowledge to the surface.

He sat down, as she had suggested, listening to the rustling and clanging in the other room.

“Yeah,” he mused, “gotta have a backup, too, probably.”

In the other room, he heard her snort in laughter. His lip twitched up, just slightly.

She returned from beyond the wall, holding up what he assumed was sensor module in triumph, “Alright. Let’s head out.”

“What’s it for?”

Max shrugged, “Better scope.”

Boone wasn’t sure how to take that. She preferred shotguns that had her going in closer than a rifle might. Did she mean for his rifle? The thought had him shifting his shoulder, adjusting the familiar, comfortable weight of the weapon there.

“Easier than finding weapon kits everywhere,” she offered further.

He managed a grunt, which had her grinning slightly.

“Let’s hit the road. I want to get to Boulder City by end of week.”

Back to business was better. He nodded. That’d be easy, assuming she stopped the side missions to find his gun parts or help fix a power plant - both of which, of course, happened.

Despite the detours, she kept a consistent forward momentum. It seemed to him that even apparently random stops they made held some importance, fit together as a piece of a greater tapestry that was forming in the Mojave. Max was going to be the thread that pulled it all together, he suspected, and it gave him a mixed feeling of dread and excitement.

He didn’t want to be part of some grand movement anymore, but at the same time, if she was going to be a driving force for change in the wasteland, then he would no doubt have more opportunity to take down legionaries and meet his own fate more swiftly. Even now, years after Bitter Springs and very nearly a year since Carla, he felt himself staring into that darkness within him, the one that whispered to him to take the unnecessary risks, to dive headlong into an unwinnable battle.

It was that darkness he was gazing into when Max’s hand jostled him, “You with me?”

He looked up, startled, to see her crouching next to him, a muted concern on her features. His gaze swept over the area. The fire was low, casting little light or shadow beyond the rock outcropping, and the stars whirled overhead, bright and numerous with no moon to dim them.

He felt groggy. He nodded.

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, shaking her head.

“What is it?”

Max’s eyebrows furrowed, a look that she had when she was thinking about whether or not it was best to argue or ask a question. The last time he’d seen it was when she was looking at the power grid at Helios One, trying to decide if she should do what the NCR had asked, or if she should provide power to all the people of the Mojave. She didn’t like to go back on her word, he knew, but at the end of the day, she cared about the little person, the underdog. In the end, she had opened the grid to all, and he wasn’t surprised.

He leaned back, trying to make himself be more present. She would eventually spit it out, but he knew it sometimes took her a spell to put the words together. 

“Sometimes,” she started, brow still furrowed like that, and he would have laughed if this were a few years ago, “sometimes you go somewhere. I see it, and I’m just wondering…”

“Wondering where I go?”

She nodded and backed up a ways, as if just realizing she had gotten closer to him.

He fidgeted, clicking the safety of his rifle on and off, a nervous habit that he really should kick to the curb. There wasn’t really a reason _not_ to tell her except he didn’t want her to think he was a pity case. And besides it wasn’t exactly her business, was it? Wasn’t any harm in her knowing, either.

She backed further away, “Shouldn’t have asked. Sorry. Not my business.”

He felt a pang in him at her face, at the way she shrank back away, as if she had been shocked or burned. She gave so much of herself, but she also had respected his privacy from the start. She understood it, he figured, given how much he still didn’t know about her. It had taken him two days to ask her name, and then it was weeks before he learned about her getting shot, being a courier. Beyond that, he still knew nothing.

That wasn’t strange or off-putting to him. What was strange, was the realization that he wanted to know.

He cleared his throat, “I tracked her down, after they took her. Found their camp - hundreds of Legion, and there was Carla. Men bartering for things they got no right to.”

Max’s face was solemn, soft, as she listened. She had to know where it was going.

“Just me against hundreds of them. I didn’t stand a chance. So I took the shot.”

To her credit, she didn’t lean forward and wrap her arms around him. She didn’t even reach out to him. She shook her head and looked away, “That’s...rough. I’m sorry.”

“The way the Legion treats women, I know it was a mercy, but…”

That soft silence fell on them for a while, the greatest gift Max could give him in the moment. When the flare of pain had settled back down to the dull ache that he normally carried, she spoke again, “It’s hard, no matter what. But civilians don’t know. And your wife on top of that. We’ll make them pay.”

He didn’t even know he had been thinking it before he asked, “You ever been married?”

Max gave him a genuinely shocked look in response. He had never really engaged in this kind of discussion before. Not only had he offered her information freely, but now he was asking, too.

Their silence became slightly uncomfortable, Max’s brow doing the furrow thing again.

“I...don’t know. I don’t think so. Not like I forgot everything...I know I was a courier. I remember things. There’s someone. Someones anyway. But I feel like if it was a husband, I’d recall more clearly.”

After another few beats of silence, she spoke again, “Figure if I was, maybe they’d have come looking by now, and no one’s stopped in to claim me yet, so…”

She trailed off, then, grinning, though it didn’t reach her eyes. 

Boone spent most of the past year - almost year - isolating himself, seeking solitude. It was his way, to insulate and push others away, especially given the situation in Novac. He liked that Max kept to herself, but he realized now just how lonely she must be. She had no one looking for her, and something about that made him righteously angry.

Her grin turned more genuine in response to his silence, and she held out a flask to him. He took a sip of the whiskey that was in it, grimacing, then handed it back. The rest of the night passed them by.

They reached Boulder City not long after, just a couple days behind schedule, to find a hostage situation that, as with all things, Max ended up in the middle of. And she walked out with both the hostages and the information she was looking for.

“The name Benny mean anything to you?”

There was something dangerously close to hope in her eyes when she asked, stepping to the side of the soldiers reuniting outside of the ruins.

He frowned, “I’m sorry. It doesn’t.”

She shrugged, “Guess I should’ve figured it’d be New Vegas.”

They camped with the NCR troops that night, and before it was too late, Max has disappeared from the crowd. Boone considered going to find her, but he thought better of it. She was on a path, either for vengeance or answers, and that was a journey she had to plan herself. He’d continue along, if she wanted; she had helped him find something like closure. The least he could do was return the favor.

Before the sun rose, Max came and woke him.

“I don’t want to drag you all over the Mojave-“

“Just give me a minute to get ready.”

“You don’t owe me anything. You’ve-“

“Got more legionaries to kill, right?”

Her pause was brief. “Right.”

“Let’s head out, then.”

It was only a two day trek to the strip, and they were making good time before the tingle started at the back of his neck when they were just outside the perimeter that marked the safe zone around New Vegas.

He closed the distance between them, tugging on Max’s elbow to draw her attention, “We need to get off the road.”

She didn’t question, just drew her weapon and ducked off the side.

They didn’t have long to wait. A small party descended from the hill, led by a frumentarii. They said nothing to each other. He settled down and aimed, and Max stood and sprinted to cover behind a large boulder that would bring her into better range with her own weapon.

The leader dropped back, as the two on the side moved to flank them, each with spears. He wouldn’t be able to get them both, but he trusted Max saw it, too.

He swung his rifle to the left, taking a breath, then the shot. The assassin went down, but he wasn’t out just yet, his knee disintegrating. He wouldn’t be a problem anyway. To the right, he heard two snaps of a shotgun - blamblam! - then a groan. 

The frumentarii, he knew, would be wearing better armor than the others. He tried to find him in his scope, and had a stab of panic when he didn’t see the leader anywhere.

Another shotgun burst. Another. She’d be reloading.

He made a slow sweep - as slow as he could will himself - of the area. Max was no longer visible, having moved beyond the edge of the boulder. He grunted at that. If he moved just a bit…

There had been four. The memory jolted him into motion, looking up from his scope in time to see the fourth, a veteran most likely, leaping into the ditch.

Boone scrambled back, relieved to hear the charging tune of ED-E coming up behind him. He couldn’t afford to turn away, but he needed to put distance between them. The distraction wasn’t enough; the assassin lashed out with the machete he had drawn for close quarters.

Boone twisted sharply away, feeling something in his back twinge. Laser fire blasted over his shoulder, the heat close enough that he could feel it through his shirt, could smell it in the air. He forgot how happy he had been to have the eyebot coming up behind him for a moment.

And remembered again when the legionary dropped the weapon, bringing his hand up to his chest with a shout of pain.

Still closer than he’d like, but it was now or never.

Boone lifted his rifle and pulled the trigger, feeling the kick and knowing it had to have gone wide, but the grunt and thud that followed made it clear he had hit something at least. He aimed at the prone figure and shot again, just in case.

There was a sharp pain at his side. Looking down confirmed what he suspected - under his arm, skirting his ribs, a red patch had started to bloom. The pain caught up with him, and he wrapped his left arm around his chest, hissing through the pain.

ED-E whirred past him, still trumpeting his battle song.

Boone tried to remember if he had heard the shotgun go off during his brief foray into hand-to-hand combat. He couldn't recall, but his focus had been singular in the moment. He didn’t hear it now, though.

Gritting his teeth, he jogged toward the boulder, the closer he got, the longer without the familiar, ear-splitting sound of Max’s shotgun going off, the quicker his pace. There was a scuffle happening.

ED-E’s laser gun twanged repeatedly; footsteps in the sand, scraping, as the fighters scrambled to stay upright. Heavy breathing, a grunt, then a breathed curse.

He rounded the boulder in time to see Max straddling the soldier, knife twisted back in the man’s hands. She leaned forward, snarling until his hand spasmed involuntarily at the angle, dropping the handle. She latched onto it and made a final push with the blade until it was buried in his chest. He was glaring up at Max, and in the moments before the light fled his eyes, he spat at her. 

She spat back.

ED-E’s triumph hymn played, loud and clear, as Max pushed herself slowly off of the body beneath her. Blood dripped from her mouth and nose, and when she leaned away from the dead legionary, she toppled over with a shout of pain.

Boone leaned over as best he could to retrieve her bag, which he dragged to her silently.

They helped each other sit up against the boulder, each administering a stimpak. Sitting in silence, only their labored breathing to keep the time, they watched the night darken for a while.

When his chest stopped throbbing as insistently, he gestured down the road, “McCarran’s about an hour from here.”

She nodded, though she was pale, sweat gleaming on her skin even in the dim light, and they helped each other up.

It took a little more than an hour, both of them sweaty, panting, and holding the other up as best they could, by the time they arrived. The NCR soldiers outside both shouted for the doors to be opened, dropping their weapons to help the pair through the gates and toward the medical tent.

They had made it. Boone had gotten her this far - just a little more to go, he thought, as they stretched him out on the bed, before the blissful nothingness of Med-X consumed him.


	6. McCarran Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battered and near broken, Boone and Max make it to Camp McCarran, where their deeds have already been spoken of. Still, as Max says, ain’t nothing in the world come free, and the needs of the camp weigh heavy on his companion. After healing up, she takes them out on the road to an old vault, where they battle...trees?

Harsh white greeted Boone when he opened his eyes, and he knew immediately, without seeing more, that he was in a military medic tent. He had been in enough of them to know. For a short, blessed moment, he thought maybe he was back in the NCR army, a couple of years away from being married, maybe. Carla would be waiting for him to come back.

Reality sank onto him like a stone, as the Med-X wore off.

Carla’s face crumpling under the impact of a bullet replaced his momentary image of her waiting in the door of their home. Nausea took him, and he leaned awkwardly over the edge of the bed while his body was wracked with dry heaves.

A doctor came over, pushing him back onto the bed and rolling him onto his side, “Alright, First Recon.”

He groaned at the nickname as much as the pain in his stomach. 

“Get me an IV here and some fluid.”

He shook his head, gesturing toward the glass by the table.

“Belay that,” the doctor added, moving slowly to grab the glass while still ensuring that Boone didn’t fall off the cot.

He knew the drill. He took small sips, barely sitting up. After those and a few deep breaths, he was able to sit up straighter, “How long was I out?”

The doctor moved away from his side when he was sure he could keep up his own weight, “Just a day.”

He gave his shoulder and chest a tentative twist. The skin felt tender, but it was clearly healed well enough. He probed his ribs with his left hand, feeling the strangely smooth skin that grew almost overnight with the stimpaks. He took another sip of the water, groping on the table for his sunglasses and sliding them back on, letting out a relieved sigh.

“Max?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, “The woman you brought in with you?”

Boone swallowed, suddenly worried about what the news might be.

“She’s in the other tent. Had a -“

“On her head? She was shot a few...well, before.”

The doctor’s face soured, “How’d that happen?”

Boone gave him a glare, though it was less obvious with his glasses, “Didn’t feel like sharing the whole story for some reason. Just knew we were heading this way tracking down the one that did it.”

Biting back whatever else he was going to say, the doctor retrieved a clipboard, glancing at it, “Nasty break on her left leg. Bruised ribs. Her face was swollen pretty bad by the time we got to her. What happened out there?”

“Frumentarii,” he snarled.

“How many?”

“4 or 5.”

“And you two survived. I’d say that’s a win.”

“They died, so it was. So?”

“She woke up a while ago. Wandered off, despite my advice. Saw her head off to your squad, or...you know what I mean.”

Boone grunted and pushed himself up slowly.

“Don’t suppose you’ll listen any better than she did, but you really shouldn’t just run off.”

“Won’t,” was all he said before straightening with a grimace, “thanks for patching me up.”

The doctor gave an exasperated grunt but didn’t stop him. He wandered out, squinting in the sun, despite his shades. 

It had been some years since he’d been here, but it had barely changed. He was pretty sure, moving through the tents, that some of them had been there when he had passed through however many years ago. Max wouldn’t likely wander off without him, at least not beyond the gates, or at least he assumed. Hoped. So he took his time, getting his bearings.

Closer to the front of the camp he saw the familiar canvas, a few red berets moving past the opening. 

He heard her before he saw her, tucked behind the flap of the tent, speaking with a young man with a stutter, by the sounds of it.

“Shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“I’m her partner,” the man practically shouted, “and I f-f-failed.”

“Didn’t fail. Job’s dangerous. You were unconscious. Besides if you keep on it, you’re not doing her any favors, either.”

There was a stretch of silence, then, and Boone could almost feel the calming introspection that her words often brought on. He could imagine the boy’s face, thoughtful and surprised, as realization dawned on him. She had a way of saying things that seemed obvious after she voiced them.

He took the silence as a cue to enter, walking through the entrance of the tent, as if he hadn’t been standing outside for those heartbeats to listen.

Her eyes flicked up to him briefly, the only indication she gave that she was acknowledging his presence. It’d be easy to take offense except that she was clearly in her zone, trying her damnedest to make this soldier feel heard, feel important. Something bloomed in his chest, just for a moment, a flare of a nameless thing, bright and shining, at the sight. It was gone as soon as it sparked, though, and he focused on finding a seat close but far enough away to not seem intrusive.

“I…” the young man started.

Max held up her hands, “Just think about it. You did what you could. She got dealt a shit hand, but you didn’t deal it, ok?”

There was something close to anguish on the man’s face, and Boone had a pretty good idea what had happened, even without having heard the story. After a moment, the young soldier nodded firmly, his jaw tight.

“Go with her to the doctor, maybe?”

Another nod.

“Ok. I’ll check in, then, make sure she has an appointment. Thanks for your help, Ten.”

After a moment, he gave a shy smile, “Thanks, Six.”

When the soldier left, Boone took stock. Max had her leg in a brace of some sort, and while her face wasn’t swollen, there was a yellow and green bruise still mottling the right side - it had to have been much worse, then, if she had been pumped with as many Stimpaks as he was. The doctor had mentioned bruised ribs, but there was no way for him to know if those were still an issue without asking or seeing her without her armor. 

In his mind, the hazy memory of her clavicle swam to the forefront, like an offering for him to inspect, consume. He squeezed his eyes shut until white spots swam before him, replacing the image of her skin.

“You’re awake,” she said, offering something obvious, giving him an opening or an out, whichever he chose.

He opened his eyes and nodded, “How are you?”

She frowned, rolled her shoulder - and he didn’t think about the shape of it - and leaned back, “About as good as you’d expect.”

“Doctor thought I shot you in the head.”

She huffed a laugh, “If you had, I would be dead.”

The words had barely left her mouth when the color drained from her face. Her eyes cut quickly to him, then away, as if he were a wild animal ready to attack. He could almost see the apology forming on her lips before she pressed them together tightly and looked down at her leg instead, picking up the conversation, as if it the moment hadn’t happened, “Besides the leg was the worst. Dude hit me with a rock while we were scuffling.”

He slid into the chair across from her and nodded toward the flap of the tent, “Who was that?”

“Ten of Spades. He and his partner were out in Fiend territory-“

“I gathered that much.”

She nodded and gave her leg and experimental stretch, looking down at it, “Want to go for a test run?”

He followed her gaze to the brace, “Maybe you should give it a day or two.”

“Stimpak did its job.”

“Max.”

His use of her name had her falling silent. He held his gaze steady on her, hoping to convey a sense of how ridiculous she sounded, wearing a brace, face the color of dying cacti, and who knows what situation on her ribs. She let out an annoyed huff, “I want to go kill this Boom Boom guy.”

“Not your fight.”

Her mouth opened to retort. She closed it. Glared at him.

“What the hell am I supposed to do then, Boone? Just sit around?”

He shrugged, “It’s not a bad idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea. If I’m sitting still, I’m thinking, and if I’m thinking…”

She trailed off, shut her eyes tight, and shook her head.

He could imagine what she might think about. In the dark quiet of night, he often thought of pulling the trigger of his rifle, thought of hundreds of nameless faces in red armor, men staring at a stage with a naked woman, thought of the sound of the rifle shot, the disintegrating face. If he stretched his imagination, he could picture being on the other end of that shot.

“I gotta do something.”

Boone understood what she meant, “We could talk to Hsu. See if he has anything needs done.”

The look she gave him was painfully grateful, and she nodded. 

He slid back out of his chair, recognizing belatedly that he was hovering near hers, ready to move if she wobbled. She stood slowly, easing weight onto the leg with the brace and working to cover a grimace. It took a moment for her to step away from the table, and even then she leaned slightly, favoring her left side.

“Damn near lethal, you are,” he grunted, and she smacked his arm good-naturedly.

“I already agreed,” she scolded playfully. 

He felt his lips tilt up slightly, against his own better judgment, before he schooled impassivity back to his features, “Let’s see if Hsu remembers me.”

“Chiseled jaw like that? I’m sure he will.”

He glanced sideways at her, eyebrows nearly touching his beret, he was sure, but she just grinned and continued to limp her way by his side to the main doors. She reached the entrance first, tugging on the aging, rusted metal with a grunt, then a hiss.

Before she could injure herself further, he reached beyond her and pulled it open. 

She ducked her face away from him, holding up a hand in thanks, before slipping through the open doorway, muttering, “Thanks.”

Boone stopped inside the door, taking a look around to gain his bearings. He waited a moment for the anticipated wave of nostalgia, a vivid memory to consume him. There was a flash of familiarity, but it went no further. His focus shifted to the task at hand, then, scanning the area to see if he could determine where the colonel might be. 

He stepped past the courier and gestured with a nod toward the lower level offices, “In there, if I recall.”

She breathed out a relieved sight, “Good thing I don’t have to go up those stairs.”

“I can get you up there if we need to.”

He didn’t want to think about that prospect, and he didn’t want to talk about it, so he moved past her, holding up a hand to have her wait by the door. There was the sound of boots on the floor - a good sign. A few more steps and the source came into view. He couldn’t stop himself from standing straighter, all but snapping to attention. 

Max must have seen and read his reaction because she limped up beside him, peering into the room.

Hsu had turned, eyes narrowed, very likely trying to place Boone’s face, before landing on Max. 

“Colonel Hsu,” she spoke from behind Boone before he could speak, “I’m Max. Also been called Courier. And some less savory terms, though that’s almost exclusively by legionaries staring at me from the end of my shotgun.”

The colonel gave her a smile, “I see. And you have a First Recon scout watching your back, too? Must be good at pissing off the Legion, then.”

Boone almost chuckled at that, “She is.”

Hsu turned his attention back to him, “You seem familiar, soldier.”

“Craig Boone, sir. We met before I was discharged.”

“I see you’re carrying on our good work,” he said, though his gaze turned concerned again. 

Before Boone could read too much into it, Hsu was speaking to Max again, “Doctor says that you came in after a fight with the frumentarii?”

Despite the obvious discomfort, even Max straightened under the colonel’s gaze, nodding, “That’s correct. Weren’t many of them, but damned if they weren’t pissed off enough to put up a good fight.”

After a moment of silence, Hsu’s head snapped up in recognition, “Nelson.”

Boone nodded an affirmative.

“Then the NCR owes you a great deal of gratitude. Rest here as long as you need. What brought you this way?”

Max gave a sigh that could have been a groan, “Mind if I sit?”

Hsu moved back into his room, gesturing to the chairs. Boone stepped in behind the courier but remained standing. Max dropped into one of the offered chairs and leaned her elbows on her knees. He could see the wheels spinning in her head, weighing the options, trying to decide how much she should mention.

With a frustrated noise, she pulled back her hair, showing Hsu the gruesome reminder of her near-death experience. Boone selfishly took the opportunity himself to look at the scar again. It looked better than last time, not as puffy or red. It lay nearly flat now, white and pink making a crooked path along her scalp. 

Hsu cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and Max dropped her loose hair back over the spot.

“Looking for the guy who did that,” she offered. 

Benny, Boone thought. According to the Great Khans they had managed to track down, he was at the Tops, on the Strip. It was one reason for her coming here, he knew. She was hoping to use the monorail. They hadn’t spoken about it directly, but he had a sense for her way of thinking now - usually it was a few steps ahead of the task in front of them. She had done a lot for the NCR; maybe she had curried enough favor to ask.

The sight of her scar made him shift his weight, suddenly feeling anxious and twitchy. He drummed his trigger finger against his leg. He wanted to shoot something.

The motion caught Hsu’s attention, but the colonel said nothing, his attention still trained on Max, “And then what?”

“I want to know why.”

“That it?”

“It’s a start,” she shrugged.

Hsu was most likely trying to determine the cost, either personal or for the NCR, of letting her go forward with whatever she had planned. It wasn’t really a policy of the military to involve themselves in an individual’s vendetta, and there was no reason for him to go out of his way to stop a woman with a bullet wound in her head from seeking revenge. 

“Fair enough. And I’m thinking you need to get into the Strip.”

Max frowned, “Somehow.”

“When you were at Nelson, did you hear about Camp Forlorn Hope?”

“That’s a terrible name.”

“It’s well earned.”

Boone shifted again, his eyes drawn involuntarily to Max’s leg brace. Hsu again noticed.

“They need help,” the colonel explained, “and my hands are tied. But if you could get out there and help them get the support and supplies they need,” he trailed off.

Max stood, albeit carefully, and offered her hand, “Mind if I wait a few days?”

Hsu chuckled, “Not at all.”

He nodded to Boone, “Soldier.”

And with that, they were dismissed.


	7. Camp Forlorn Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hsu sends them to Forlorn Hope with a sad song about their low situation, and Max, despite her outward disposition, can’t say no to an underdog. They make the long trek back, and Boone muses on the courier. Once they arrive, they learn that the goal is to retake Nelson, returning to their first shared kills, and something about it strikes him as...meaningful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished writing Chapter 23. I expect there are about 4 more chapters? I could be wrong. But that seems a safe assumption; how did this happen? I don’t even know...it just kept going.

In the days that they spent at McCarran, Max had made it a point to learn as much as she could about Forlorn Hope, as well as give Hsu enough information that he could have troopers inside the walls report on Benny’s movements. Boone wasn’t sure how she had convinced the colonel to do so, but then it seemed that people often did what Max asked.

She also trekked out one evening and retrieved Boom Boom’s head, bringing it back and tossing it on the floor of the First Recon tent. 

She had called it her farewell gift.

And then they were back on the road, restocked, rearmored, and reloaded. He appreciated being on the move. He understood her reticence to stay still for any amount of time, and he shared that sentiment. Feeling the road under his boots, the hot Mojave sun following him through the sky, it meant he was doing something.

The pair passed the sight of the assassin attack. The bodies they left had been stripped clean and partially eaten. Max spat at the remains, as they passed. Boone grinned. They had left a trail from Novac to Goodsprings and back again, and it felt good. He knew that Death was waiting for him, jogging behind at his heels, waiting for the right moment, and he was ready to turn around and open his arms in welcome, but knowing that he would be able to take out a veritable shit ton of legionaries with him, well, it made it all worthwhile.

His gaze slid sideways to the woman walking to his left, slightly ahead of him, but only barely. All things considered, walking out of the dinosaur with her in Novac had been the best decision to make at that time. He could have stayed, picked off red-clad demons as they traveled down the road and through his scope, but it would have been small potatoes compared to what he had done so far.

In their first week, they had freed soldiers from crucifixion in Nelson, and he had learned that Max, while quiet and sarcastic and at times intimidating in her intelligence, was kind and unwilling to sacrifice for the sake of her own ease.

At Nipton he watched her brutal efficiency, her ability to keep fighting through pain. She was tough as nails. And soon after Nipton, he learned why. The memory of that jagged scar on her scalp made his spine tingle uncomfortably. She had been dead. Had been buried. And now she had risen, he thought maybe she couldn’t be killed. She would walk right into the Mojave and make it clean again, stripped of the Legion, of the man who wronged her.

His fate would be bloody, and so would hers, but while he would be punished, she would be salvation. He believed that deeply.

He must have been staring for a while because after a moment, she turned her gaze on him, calm gray eyes behind black rimmed glasses asking him the silent question - what’s going on?

He tapped his head, in the area of her scar, and he saw her hand twitch, as if to reach up to it, but she held it at her side. She shrugged. Wasn’t bothering her, then, good. He nodded. She turned back to the road.

Max might as well have been his spotter, for as much as she could say to him without opening her mouth and vice versa. Last time he had had a partner he was so in tune with, it was Manny, and that gave him pause.

He had believed himself to be a good judge of character, but where had that gotten him? Trusted a town to let them live life in peace, and instead they had his wife sold to slavery. It twisted in his gut, still, the guilt, the wondering if there was something he could have done, some sign he missed.

But Max wasn’t like that. She was warm. She was considerate in a way that not many warm people were. She never pushed him, never pushed others, met them where they were. If someone wasn’t the smiling type, she didn’t bother. If someone wanted to shake hands, she shook. He had never seen someone so comfortable with slipping in and out of familiarity with someone. It would seem duplicitous if it weren’t for the fact that she never claimed to be something she wasn’t.

She liked her space. Shaking hands was fine, but he had seen some folks go in for a hug, and she would step away, offering a smile, but the message clear in her eyes that she’d prefer the distance.

She was also whip smart and funny. If he had thought back on the weeks - month, really - they’d been traveling together, he was surprised that he could recall nights that he hadn’t even thought about...everything. About Carla, about Bitter Springs, about the fate awaiting him. 

If he were honest with himself, Max was the best friend he’d had in some time. He respected her, enjoyed her company, and he was proud to be the person who had become her shadow. Other than ED-E, she didn’t have others join her. He carefully avoided reading into that - he was a good sniper, and she needed someone to cover her six; that was it. 

On their way out of Goodsprings, when they had stopped at the trading post, she had offered a drunken caravan owner an invitation to join them, and the woman had advised it seemed crowded, her eyes on Boone. Seemed she wasn’t interested in traveling with a First Recon sniper. Max had shrugged, “If you change your mind,” and walked out, inclining her head to have Boone follow her out.

“Was it always called Forlorn Hope?”

Her question broke his reverie, and he shook his head to clear it, as much as an answer, “No.”

“It’s a shitty name.”

“Nickname.”

“Guessing it’s not a popular posting.”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy?”

“And it overlooks Nelson?”

“Mmhmm.”

“We’ll see how forlorn they are when we tell them we already killed all the legionaries down there.”

He gestured out into the wastes, “They’re like the damn ants, Max. More have scurried in by now.”

She made a sour face, though her eyes were shining when he said her name, “It’s been like a month.”

“Plenty of time.”

“Guess we’ll just have to kill more then,” she shrugged.

“Too bad,” he sighed, “means I’ll have to stick with you a little longer.”

Something like a question or worry flashed in her eyes. Just for a moment. He could have imagined it, even, except that she looked away after it was gone, grin on her features, “Sorry about that.”

He considered stopping, grabbing her arm to look her in the eye and tell her exactly how much it meant to him that she had taken him out of that place, telling her...what? That she was his only friend in the damn wasteland? It was true, but the words made him shrink back. 

Instead he flapped the back of his fingers against her shoulder, “If I don’t tag along, who’ll keep you from getting stabbed in the back, huh? You’re stuck with me.”

She turned her grin back to him, then, “Well that’s lucky. ‘Cause without me, everyone would get up close, and then what would happen?”

For an instant, he almost wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her close. The urge came unbidden, without thought or any real intention, enough that his arm twitched before he pulled it away, remembering himself. So he chuckled at her teasing, and he forced himself to not let his mind wander again.

He tried, anyway. 

They arrived at the camp just before nightfall, in the hazy purple of dusk, with the courier and her floating eyebot little more than silhouettes ahead of him. The soldiers at the gate greeted them enthusiastically - Hsu had called ahead to let them know that he was sending some support, and again Max’s reputation had preceded her.

Too late to get much done that night, they were offered bunks, and the following morning, they were ushered to the commend tent, where the grim situation of Forlorn Hope was laid out in the blunt, militaristic fashion that Boone was accustomed to. They needed supplies. Their one medic was overwhelmed, and they certainly didn’t have enough soldiers to retake Nelson, even with the Legion numbers already thinned by their current visitors.

Undeterred, Max listened with the same rapt attention she gave everyone, then repeated back what had been said, asking some pointed questions - who did she need to speak with; was there anything else she should know about the NCR forces in the area; and how had he come to be stationed here, anyway?

When they were done getting the big picture and had stepped outside the tent, she lit a cigarette and shook her head, “Well shit. How do you feel about tag-teaming this?”

He turned to her, waiting for her to expand on her idea.

“We can get this done a lot faster if we split these jobs. Think you and ED-E could handle grabbing the supplies that went missing? I can stay here and help the doc. You could even borrow the Pip-Boy.”

His eyes fell to the device on her wrist, and he shrugged, “You can keep it. But I don’t mind going after the supplies with ED-E. You’ll be alright here?”

She gave him a look that was more smile than grin and nodded, “I’ll be fine. You going to do ok without me there to distract the bad guys?”

He snorted, “Please. Probably be done quicker, not stopping at every campsite to look for supplies or ask if someone needs their life fixed.”

Her laugh was bright, and it made something warm flood him for a moment.

“Be careful out there, First Recon.”

“Be back before you know it, Courier.”

Not one for long goodbyes, she nodded and turned toward the medical tent, saying nothing further. 

It didn’t occur to him until he and ED-E were at the sight of the ambushed caravan, the last of legionaries downed by his rifle, that he didn’t know she knew any sort of medicine. He hadn’t even questioned it, when she agreed to help the doctor in the tent. Did she know what she was doing? Was she just planning to be an extra pair of hands?

As he stacked the ransacked supplies onto a makeshift sled, he thought he could picture it. She was good with her hands, always tinkering with their weapons and armor to make it just that much better. She could fix anything, far as he could tell, from small radios to the big machines at Helios One. Why not fix people, too?

Pulling the supplies took longer than he had anticipated. By the time he arrived back at the camp, the supplies dragging behind him on what passed as a tarp, he was sticky with sweat, his neck and shoulders sore.

Surprised, happy shouts heralded his arrival, and a bevy of soldiers came out to help him finish the delivery. They took it from there, and he wiped his brow, eyes on the medical tent. The sun was starting its descent, and the offwhite of the canvas looked almost orange in the light. Rolling his shoulders and choosing to ignore his discomfort temporarily, he started toward it. 

He stood outside for just a minute, listening. Her voice was muffled through the thick fabric but no less distinct.

“No, any more and he’ll get the shakes. One will be fine. We just need to take the edge off, so I can cleanse the burns. You’ll need to hold him down for me.”

There was a groan of pain, soft, soothing words that he couldn’t quite make out, and then, “Ok. Done. Get him bandaged.”

A man’s voice then, “That was...I couldn’t have finished this without you. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Anyone else?”

“No, it was just these three.”

The sound of a chair scraping against the ground, “I just wish I could have saved his leg.”

“He’s alive.”

“Yeah.”

Boone took the following silence as his chance to walk in. He affected a nonchalant pose, waving outside, “Supplies have arrived. How’s it going here?”

The medic turned in surprise, eyes tracking from him to Max and back, “I take it you’re the First Recon scout who came in with Max?”

“Boone,” Max filled in.

“Alex Richards. Nice to meet you, Boone. We just finished up, actually. You’re damn lucky to have such a talented medic with you,” he finished, giving Max an appraising look.

Boone felt his hackles raise, but he bit back his response. He was lucky; that was true. He hadn’t known she was so skilled in medicine, but he wasn’t surprised. And he had no claim to her, no exclusive rights to her company and friendship.

“I’m lucky to have a First Recon sniper covering my six,” she responded, standing, her focus on Boone now, something that he was secretly relieved to see, “How’d the supply retrieval go? Anyone get closer than 20 yards?”

He didn’t grin, though he wanted to, just looked down when she came closer, “Not even 30 yards.”

She did grin, then turned back to Alex, “I’m going to just follow up on this, and I can come back to check on them in a bit.”

The pair of them walked out, and Boone could feel the other man watching them, probably trying to figure out what the deal was. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen that. Men and women both would sometimes linger around the courier, basking in her attention and seeking to keep it. Some of them just appreciated her kindness. Others, like the good doctor within, would let their gaze trail over her, eyes darkened and hooded with blatant interest that she universally ignored.

And after every interaction, no matter the length, she would turn her focus back on him, and the two of them would move onto the next thing.

In this case, the next thing was reporting their successes to the local brass and then waiting for the next day to storm into Nelson and retake the town once and for all.

They had a small company join them for the final task, no more than five soldiers, though Max assured their lieutenant that it would be sufficient. Nelson was almost a ghost town, the streets empty except for the decaying remains of the last legionaries they had faced down here.

He walked past the spot where she had fought off the two soldiers, with the dogs at her heels. He remembered watching the scene play out in his scope, almost a month ago. She had been a stranger, still, at the time, and while he wouldn’t claim to know her too intimately, she was now a friend. He had been right not to take the shot right away - there was too much movement. But seeing the bodies made him want to kick them all the same.

At his side, Max chuckled, “He looks better now than he did when I first got him in the face with the 20 gauge.”

And then she walked past, not dwelling on it.

They found a small holdout of Legion soldiers in the barracks, but they made quick work of them. Three men, all told. The leader came charging at them with a battle cry that was cut short by Max’s shotgun; one of the NCR soldiers with them put the butt of his rifle in the second one’s face before shooting, and the third slit his own throat before any of them could engage.

It was over just like that.

He watched the soldiers take down Caesar’s flags and restore the NCR regalia, Max next to him.

“Kind of crazy, right? I mean, feels like we were just here.”

He looked down at her and nodded.

“Thanks for coming out here with me.”

He wasn’t sure if she meant coming back or the first time they had come out. Or maybe that he had joined at all. He just nodded again, and they waited in silence for the soldiers to finish their work, sentinels as the light faded.


	8. McCarran Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High on their victory and a bill of good health from the doctor, Max and Boone return to McCarran, this time hoping to make it to the Strip. But when they arrive, they watch a Centurion being dragged into custody, and Boone can’t let it go. Forgoing her opportunity, she agrees to interrogate him, using her wit to get what they need out of him and learn that there’s a traitor amongst them. Boone struggles with his guilt when they learn that Benny has gone back into his own fortress by the time she’s done.

They were close enough to Goodsprings, it didn’t make sense to pass by a chance to have her wound checked on. Doc Mitchell greeted her warmly and even gave Boone a firm handshake when they entered.

Boone didn’t feel as much of an intruder this time, leaning against the door frame while Max sat on the doctor’s cot, moving the long locks of her hair that she kept in the bun. The previously shaved area had mostly grown in, except for where the scar itself was. It was white now, raised but no more than a normal scar, and the angry red that had been on the sides the first time he’d seen it were gone.

Doc Mitchell must have agreed with his silent assessment because he beamed, “Well if you aren’t just full of miracles. It’s as healed as it’ll ever be. Still getting headaches?”

Max’s face flickered for a moment, her normal features twisting just for a second, “Not...so much.”

“She gets ‘em. Not as frequent, but if she doesn’t wear her glasses, or if we’re out in the sun too long, they creep up.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, “Traitor.”

Doc ignored her outburst and gave her a stern look, “You gotta take care of yourself, Max. You staying hydrated?”

She nodded.

“Need me to look at your glasses?”

She sighed and slipped them off, handing them over. The doctor took them and walked into the other room, reminding her to just stay put, it’d only take a couple of minutes.

It was while he was away that her Pip-Boy beeped at her. She almost startled at the sound - must have been deep in thought, then - and looked down at it, confused, “Got a new radio wave it’s picking up.”

She fiddled with the knob; static filled the air briefly before a familiar voice broke in, “This message is on repeat. For Courier - bogey is on the move. Reports that he has left HQ are confirmed.”

Her eyes went wide, and she looked up at him, an avalanche of emotions sliding over her features - relief, anger, something close to fear, and finally surprise, “Benny. Hsu came through.”

Without needing further direction, Boone started gathering their things. The quickest path to the Strip was through Sloan, but reports from that end said that they were overrun with Deathclaws. They could maybe risk it, but it wasn’t a good idea. It was more important they get there. She might try to fight him on that, but he was confident he could win her over. 

The report continued, “Trackers will report in with further movements.”

“I think he left the Strip. Maybe looking for something else? There was more than one courier carrying things that night.” She continued a running commentary, absently dropping things into her bag, picking it up, putting it back down, looking at the door that Doc Mitchell had disappeared through.

Boone shrugged, holding up a medical kit in question.

“Yeah, Doc won’t mind. Head down to the saloon and get us some road rations. I’m just gonna - how long does it take to tighten some screws?”

He was out the door with his bag without another word. This was it. This was her revenge. It was his turn to find the traitor and walk them out in front of her, her turn to line up a shot and even the score. She had done it without question. The least he could do was return the favor.

They were heading out in an hour, Max waving a hasty but fond farewell to the doc, while slipping on her repaired glasses and shaking her full canteen at him.

She was as quiet as ever, but the energy around her was buzzing, like electricity in wires - he could sense it was there, but she gave no outward sign that if approached the wrong way, she could be lethal. Each day it got a little worse, but they made record time, arriving at the gates of McCarran in the middle of the night. They had made stops along the way to camp, but she hadn’t taken on any side jobs, and when she realized they could get there at 20:00 if they just pushed a little further on the third day, they did.

Only one other report had come in during that time, confirming that Benny had left the Strip, heading toward Boulder City. She was worried that he would be coming back already, and she wanted to be there when he returned. But no further messages had reached them by the time they arrived.

She marched through the main gate, nodding to the soldiers, but making a beeline to the main building. He followed after, ED-E behind him, but his attention was pulled to a commotion to their right. He reached out and tugged on Max, who turned to stare at him with something like suspicion in her eyes.

He nodded over to the sound, and she followed his gaze.

A group of three soldiers were pushing, dragging, or pulling a centurion past them. He had intended only to avoid getting in their way, wanted her to not be interrupted by the group, but the pieces were clicking into place swiftly, and he leaned down to tell her quietly, “We’ve never gotten one alive before. They all kill themselves first.”

She watched them drag the centurion inside, eyes flicking to the door, back to them, and then at Boone, who was continuing excitedly.

“We haven’t heard anything else on Benny, right? So let’s check in with Hsu, but I want to know what’s going on here. This...this is unusual.”

She nodded briefly, though she frowned, “Let’s just make sure there’s nothing new.”

He realized with a start that he was still holding her arm. He let go and motioned for her to lead the way. The soldiers had already wrestled the centurion inside; it was very possible Hsu wouldn’t be available right away. He was sure she knew that, but she was struggling to focus on anything other than her sudden forward momentum toward finding the answers she wanted.

Sure enough, when they walked in, Hsu was barking orders at the soldiers, and another officer appeared to lead the prisoner toward the cells. 

“Lieutenant,” Hsu was saying, “do not feel that this is any different from any other prisoner.”

“Sir-“

“No. If we do not adhere to our own laws, how can we expect others to?”

The woman’s face twisted, but she nodded, leading the silent centurion with her. They ascended the stairs and disappeared beyond a wall. They heard a door open and shut above them. Hsu turned and looked surprised to see them.

“Colonel,” Max nodded, “this a bad time?”

His shoulders slumped slightly, “I don’t have any news for you at this time, but I will keep you informed. I assume you got the updates? He had gone to Boulder City.”

Boone stepped up to Max, nudging her gently and leaning down, “Maybe we can help with, uh-“

Her eyes flicked to his, and whatever she saw there made her give a sort of resigned sigh, and she nodded before turning to Hsu, “Anything we can do to help, while we wait for word?”

“Nothing specific comes to mind. Feel free to ask around with my staff,” he waved vaguely, then looked up the stairs, speaking to himself while he turned away to his office, “I need to call this in. This has never happened before.”

In his state, Hsu hadn’t caught Boone’s eagerness to offer assistance retrieving information. He probably didn’t even realize that the pair had seen the exchange between himself and the lieutenant. To be fair, the colonel had an entire region of outlaw state under his command that he needed to oversee - troops and supplies stretched thin, a citizen base that didn’t want them there. It was normal he’d be preoccupied.

Max’s shoulder sank a fraction, but she gestured to the stairs, “Alright. Let’s see what we learn.”

Boone missed a lot of the details in the moment. His mind was focused on the centurion - who was he? How had they captured him? What did he know? And would he share it? Boone knew that the NCR had regulations for treatment of prisoners of war, interrogation methods that were forbidden. But he was free of those confines now, and so was Max. 

They took the stairs up to the second level. The door that the Lieutenant had gone through was locked, so they waited outside, Max leaned against the wall and Boone pacing over a three step area, while she watched.

A match flared, lighting her features for a moment before the cigarette caught. She stood quietly, and they waited. Boone, for his part, listened as best he could to what was happening inside the room. It felt like hours dragged by before the door opened, and the woman from earlier stepped through, her face sour.

She startled at the sight of him in the doorway, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Max pushed herself off of the wall, while Boone explained who they were. He thought for a moment they would be turned away, but the Lieutenant stared at them long and hard for a moment before nodding, “You might be exactly what we need.”

She explained the situation. Silus had been captured; she was unable to interrogate him at length, but, as Boone himself had already considered, they were under no such obligations. Max agreed to try her hand.

Lieutenant Boyd went back into the room, talking up Max while giving the courier a moment to disarm. She wasn’t allowed to bring anything in with her - no weapons, no Pip-Boy, just herself. She had just unstrapped the latter when Boyd emerged from the cell, motioning with her chin, “All yours.”

Max didn’t smile, didn’t say anything, just walked in with a nod. Boone wasn’t allowed to follow. He glared at Boyd, but she held her ground, and by the time he had decided he had no qualms hitting the woman, the door had closed.

Silus called her a worm. Boone almost punched the glass separating him from the room.

“What pile of excrement did the lieutenant pluck you from, worm?”

She just quirked an eyebrow in amusement, “You seem to be confused. I’m with the excrement right now.”

She used the tip of her boot to scrape some dust that was on the floor, eyes flicking back up to the centurion, to see if he was understanding her reference.

He frowned, “You must have some reason to be in your line of work. Tell me, what did the Legion do to you? Did we enslave your children? Did we slaughter your family in front of you, to teach you a lesson? Whatever it was, I hope I was there to give the order”

Boone’s fingers tightened into a fist, his knuckles white. Max seemed completely unfazed.

She grinned, then made a mocking frown at him, “You must miss giving orders, now that all your men are dead.”

He didn’t answer her question - went on about his soldiers being trained to follow orders without question. They couldn’t be trusted to be captured and keep quiet, so they were trained to kill themselves. He seemed to have a high opinion of himself, believing he could escape capture, would give nothing away. But the cracks were already forming. And Max was digging her fingers into them.

She shrugged, “Sounds to me like you were too gutless to follow Caesar’s orders.”

That got him, “I’ll show you gutless, you sniveling bastard. I’ll spill your guts all over this room.”

That sparked something in Boone, a visceral anger. He pictured Silus beneath his boot, his face going blue and purple, as breath was denied him. 

Watching her work was a gift. She never even raised her hand. But he had fallen silent, the centurion’s hands flexing repeatedly.

Boyd went back in to reengage, pointing out just how upset Silus seemed to be, smirking at Max.

The courier watched passively, as the centurion described what would happen to her on the other side of the river, dogs ripping her apart. Boone watched her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the words were upsetting, if maybe she would be thinking about facing down the barrel of a gun not so long ago. She seemed calm, smooth like glass.

This time when Boyd bid her return, he took the opportunity to slip into the room, as well, having agreed to remove his own weapons. And he had. Mostly. His combat knife was safely tucked away in his belt, hidden by his shirt.

Soon enough, Boyd left them alone again, and this time, he could see the sweat on Silus’s brow, even as he claimed to have led a charge against NCR troops with no more than a blade.

“Suicide is a weak death on a battlefield,” he finally admitted, “It says to your enemy that you fear capture. It says if you’re caught, you can be broken.”

Max almost laughed, “So...you’re unafraid to cut any throat but your own.”

Silus’s face was sour, but the words that poured from his lips then were only the truth, “You think I’m going to slit my throat for some megalomaniacal, self-appointed dictator?”

Boone was in awe. Max had played the centurion like a fiddle, picking at his ego, stroking it into a fire too large for his mouth to contain.

“I didn’t work my way up to have it all taken from me because of some irrational paranoia. Caesar’s losing it. I believe that. He’s been...shutting himself in his tent, complaining of headaches. Whatever it is, it’s affecting his ability to lead.”

Max shared a look with Boone but said nothing. 

Silus continued, his voice angry, shaking his head, “Time was _essential_ to my mission, but we waited _three days_ to be dispatched. Another of his headaches. Does that sound like a man in command?”

The centurion was on a roll, “He has an operative at this very base. But does he send him in to rescue me? Or even kill me? No. He’s content to have his agent spend every night radioing troop movements. He knows I’m here, and he’s content to let me rot.”

He stopped, breathing hard for a moment, his eyes wide, as he realized all he had divulged.

Max smiled, “Don’t you feel better, divulging state secrets like that?”

The centurion’s eyes were hard on her, “I hope they burn your wretched body at the stake when they conquer this place. After they’re done with you, anyway.”

Boone’s blood was on fire, boiling over with his rage. Max was ready to step out, to move on, but Boone saw red. He lunged at the centurion, reaching for his knife. He vaguely heard the door open, felt hands grabbing him and pulling him back. He snarled, reaching out again to rip into the bastard.

His knife was tugged free of his grip.

Grey swam in his vision, dulling the red, until he realized that Max was trying to get his attention, staring him down. He blinked at her, though she could not have seen that behind his glasses. He found himself swept away in tides of argent, enraptured by the way the light made them almost shimmer, like silver in the sun.

“Boone,” her voice repeated, calmly.

He was no longer in the interrogation room. Then he was sitting, and she stood before him, hands on his shoulders, grounding him.

He nodded, “I’m ok.”

“What was that?” She breathed out.

He shrugged. The spy, he assumed, though they had known for a long time that Caesar very likely had people infiltrate their ranks. They just didn’t realize how high up, how close, until that moment. And he had called Max a worm, threatened her with death and rape at the hands of the Legion. That had his hands tightening into fists again.

“Hey, hey,” she said again, squeezing his shoulders, “we’ll figure it all out. He’s trying to get a rise out of you. Don’t give him what he wants, ok?”

Boyd approached then, somewhat hesitant. She addressed Max directly, thanking her for getting the information from the centurion; the lieutenant was impressed that she had been able to do it without force, though a bit disappointed. Clearly the lieutenant had never met the courier, then.

“I need to report on this,” she offered as her parting words, leaving them alone in the antechamber of the interrogation area.

Max watched her go silently. When the sound of her footfalls was gone, the courier turned back to him, eyes meeting his despite the dark lenses. He felt, rather than saw, her hand grasp his combat knife and tug it free. Then she turned away from him, opening the door to where Silus was held.

His own eyes widened. He took a quick look at the entrance to this waiting area to ensure there was no one. Max seemed unconcerned. Through the glass, he saw her greet the centurion, step close, and draw the blade quickly across his throat. Blood spurted from his artery, his heart pumping life into the ether now. She stood and waited for the pumping blood to become a trickle, her focus on the dying man until he was just a body. No words passed between them, but her eyes watched his, as the life fled from them.

She wiped the blade on a clean part of the corpse’s uniform and stepped back out, handing Boone the blade silently.

He wanted to hug her, maybe. He wanted to thank her. He wanted to drop to his knees and tell her that she was the only thing in the Mojave not tainted by it. He wanted...her, blood-splattered and battle-worn. It struck him with devastating intensity, shocking and immediate; how long, he wondered? He forced it down. It was inappropriate. He wasn’t ready for something like that.

He retrieved the offered blade just as silently and slipped it back into place, his eyes tracing over her face, following the pattern of blood spread across her chest and stomach, breath held. 

It was at that moment they both became aware of the muffled voice coming from the metal box where they had stored their items. With a suddenly wild look, Max dropped next to the box, ripping the top off and digging through the items to find the contraption she wore on her wrist.

“Repeat: he is returning to the Tops now.”

Color drained from her face. She looked out the door, in the direction of the monorail. Boone could see the calculations happening in her head. Could she make it in time? If she jogged? Ran? Sprinted? 

Resignation followed the panic. There was no way for her to physically get to the Tops casino and stop him from entering, not if he was already on the Strip and heading that way.

Guilt wormed its way into his chest at the look on her face. It was only a few steps above hopeless. Crestfallen, he thought, was an accurate enough description. He looked in the interrogation room then back at her. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was quietly retrieving her gear, replacing her weapons, her Pip-Boy, every once in a while looking in the direction of the monorail that she would have taken to the Strip.

When she had gathered all of the her belongings, she straightened, her voice soft and somehow diminished, “I’m going to speak with Hsu. See if I can get to the Strip, or if he needs anything else.”

Boone opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but his silence was all that followed her out of the room and down the stairs. He had failed her, abysmally, completely. Guilt gave way to shame, and he knew that he would never be worthy of her, but he could try to make this up to her, at least.


	9. McCarran Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While they wait for more news, Boone tries to make it up to Max, but she rebuffs him politely, explaining it wasn’t a big deal, though he can see in her eyes that she’s feeling low. A mystery at the base perks her back up, and they spend a late night watching for the spy. Things get...awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s very weird to be posting these earlier chapters, as I write later ones. Feels all disjointed. But it’s also less pressure, which is a feeling I could get used to.

Hsu offered her use of the monorail once they were out of lockdown. With the news from the interrogation about a traitor, someone sending messages to the Legion, they were not letting anyone in or out. They would feed false information over the next few days, and they needed everyone to help weed out the turncloak. 

The idea was sound; it made sense. She didn’t complain, but he could see the dip in her shoulders, the more prominent downturn of her lips. 

There was no way they could have known that the first new update on Benny would come while interrogating the centurion, but Boone had spent his time berating himself for his tunnel vision, for failing to put her needs at the forefront, even for a moment. 

They stepped out of Hsu’s office together, and Max just looked lost, eyes scanning the area, as she stopped right outside the door. He had never seen that look in her eyes, and it made his insides twist even further.

But inspiration struck, when Lt. Carrie Boyd walked past upstairs, reminding him of Max’s success during the interrogation. Yes, it was what got them to where they were, but if she had made Silus talk, maybe she could help them solve this mystery faster. Then they could get to the Strip and start making plans for her to get what she needed.

He caught her elbow, “Max.”

She turned bleak eyes on him, then looked away quickly; he didn’t think she had it in her to blame him directly, but it was possible that he reminded her of how close she had been.

“Let’s find out who it is.”

That at least had her looking at him again. He ignored the surge of pleasure he felt at capturing her attention.

“You can pull the truth from anyone. And you and I will move faster, do more,” he urged.

Something in her eyes lit up, and she nodded.

“Where do we begin?”

“Boyd,” she spoke, as if it should be obvious, then moved toward the stairs. Relief flooded him at the sight of her moving again, and he followed without question.

The lieutenant was sitting at a desk upstairs, pinching the bridge of her nose, when they entered, Max all bravado when she sat down in the only other chair, “Need some help? What kind of leads you got?”

Boyd looked at her, about to say something sarcastic, maybe, but she stopped, studying Max for a moment, “Well you did help with that centurion bastard. I have three things I’m working on,”

She slid some folders over toward Max, who flipped through them quietly, while the lieutenant summarized, “I’ve got supplies going missing. I’ve got troops AWOL. And, oh yeah, a series of break-ins. So...just a few minor things.”

Max stood with the folders, “Right. Nothing major. Be back soon.”

“Where do you want to start?” He asked, once they were back in the hall, wrapped in the familiarity of their partnership.

“Break-ins,” she shrugged, holding up the folder, “we’ve got to visit,” she trailed off, eyes squinting in concentration before she opened the folder again and looked down, “Captain Ronald Curtis.”

Curtis’s office was across the building from the others, likely because of the nature of MP work. He was sitting at a desk, staring at a blinking screen, and Max stood in the door for a moment, watching. Boone stood behind her, realizing maybe for the first time how short she was; she seemed so much bigger when she was fighting or outsmarting centurions.

“Captain,” she started, as she took a step, putting on an air of just arriving, “I was sent to help look into these, let’s say, recent issues..”

Curtis looked up without jumping, to his credit. He stood and nodded, hands folding behind his back, “Yes,we have had some of those. It’s been difficult to investigate. Every time we get a lead, he - or she - goes and changes his routine.”

She hummed, “Sounds really frustrating. Well hopefully having a fresh new face on it will help.”

The Captain gave a sort of chuckle, “Yeah, perhaps. Boyd has been working on it, so she would be a good place to start.”

Max didn’t mention that they’d already spoken to Boyd, just nodded, “Great. Thanks. We’ll get right on that.”

She turned back to him, eyes flicking up to meet his beyond his shades, then beyond him. He realized he was standing in the door, blocking her path, so he backed up a step, then another, her following him out, until he could turn to the side and let her pass.

She said nothing until they were out of earshot, “Funny he didn’t mention the control room. It’s on the front page of the investigation report. The break ins have been at the old radio control room. Seems like maybe that would be a place to set up some recon, right?”

“Hmmm,” he nodded along, wondering at that himself. Of course, he hadn’t seen the file.

She stopped short, and he nearly barreled into her, “We need an access code.”

She was looking down in the folder, barely paying attention to anything around her. He stopped before knocking into her, sending her flying, and looked over her shoulder, “The six digits at the bottom.”

“Well there you go. Good thing I got a First Recon guy looking out for me.”

“Says they happen at 2am?”

Max’s head dropped back with a groan, “What are we supposed to do until then?”

Boone looked up, anywhere but at her, at the sound she had made, at her question and the answers that were swirling in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembered Carla. Remembered her asleep in their bed. Remembered her singing, talking, laughing - rare as it was. Remembered her in ropes, standing on a wooden platform. His blood chilled. 

“Let’s familiarize ourselves with the terrain, find a place to lay low and wait before it’s midnight. Don’t want to be sneaking out at the same time.”

“How embarrassing,” she intoned, “alright. No better ideas. How do we...get out to the radio tower?”

He chuckled, and stepped around her, waving forward, “This way.”

By the time they were outside, Boone felt a little more like himself. The fresh air calmed him, and he was able to get a little distance from Max. He felt guilty about wanting that distance, but he wanted things he couldn’t have, didn’t deserve, wasn’t ready for.

It was only barely a year since Carla had died. That wasn’t enough time. Not for her memory, not for Max to get someone who wasn’t broken. Right? Boone didn’t know the rules about this stuff, but he didn’t feel like he could offer her anything anyway. A darker voice in his mind told him he was just afraid, letting fear keep himself at arm’s length.

Her voice cut into his thoughts, “Couldn’t possibly be that big one there, right? I mean, that would be too obvious.”

If she sensed the internal war that was waging in him, she showed no sign. But then that was her way, anyway, to smooth over whatever discomfort there was. If someone was in pain, she would distract them. If they were scared, she’d make them laugh. He tried not to read into that in the moment, instead playing along, pointing at the tower, “Just rubbing it in our face, right?”

She spun in a slow circle, taking in the area, “And, uh, if you were a sniper, one of those First Recon guys maybe, where do you think you’d set up for a shot?”

He didn’t even think about it, really. It was obvious. He motioned at the tower that provided the clearest view, and he heard her snort.

“Let’s wander, see what we have to work with.”

The yard was a sniper’s dream, really, with tipped train cars, stacks of containers that would offer cover and good sight lines. There were fewer flood lights out here, compared to the main yard, where the army camped out. No doubt most of it would be in shadow by nightfall.

The tower was even better; the walls were low, and even the area around it had cover. They could settle in up top and watch anyone walk around, then sneak down to ground level and stay unseen the whole time.

The pair walked further, checking any and all entrances to the yard. There were two, and the guard tower, again, had the best bet for catching someone walking from either. 

Max tested the access code.

“Should eat before we settle down, I think,” she said, after the lock indicator turned green.

She locked it again before turning to him.

“Yeah.”

There wasn’t much on base, but it was warm, fresh, and neither of them had to make it at a campfire, so far as Boone was concerned, it was a great meal. Max asked ED-E to stay with the soldiers, watch the perimeter, in case they failed. The eyebot had made a disappointed whir, but she assured it that she just wanted to cover any retreats, too, and that seemed to appease it.

By 21:00, they were stepping out into the cover of night, making their way to the guard tower. They had set out supplies earlier that day, and they were still there when arrived. As it turned out, this was a little traveled area.

For the stakeout, Max had changed into her darker, more supple leather armor. It lent itself well to blending into the night. It also made Boone’s mouth somewhat dry. 

“You spend a lot of nights like this?” Her voice was soft, meant to stay between them, within the confines of the sniper nest at the top of their tower.

He nodded slowly, looking out at the yard beyond them, “Yeah. Never know how long you need to wait for the right shot.”

“How do you know when it is?”

He gave a sort of shrug, thinking on it for a moment, “There’s a...moment. Things go real quiet, real still. Everything sort of...fades to the background. You’re focused, right there, in that second. It’s like a spotlight, throwing everything into focus that you need, time stretches out, and then…”

There was a beat of silence, then she snorted, “Sounds like falling in love.”

She wasn’t necessarily wrong, though it held morbid connotations for him. His features must have changed because she blanched, stammering, “Oh, shit. Boone. I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

To his surprise, the memories that flooded him weren’t bloody; they were happy, overall, tinged with a sort of bittersweet feeling, maybe. He remembered seeing her dance for the first time. Remembered the first time he saw her in a dress, the way the sunlight had reflected in her hair. He remembered her smiling, the quiet, secret smile she gave to him. 

He shook his head, “You’re right.”

There was a beat before a smile spread across Max’s features that she tried to hide behind her shoulder.

“I guess in a way it’s the same anyway. A lot of things have to fall together in just the right way. Things have to happen in just the right order. You have to be in the right place, at the right time.”

Silence wrapped around them. Boone felt his heart thumping against his chest. It did feel like he was lining up a shot, as he became highly aware of their surroundings. He could hear her breath, feel the warmth of her next to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, so he missed her more mischievous grin.

“I think having a big gun doesn’t hurt, either?”

His chuckle startled even him, “Yeah, that’s, uh, true.”

She arched an eyebrow at him, “That so?”

Boone felt heat in his cheeks, and he turned back to the radio tower, focused intensely on the area nearby. He hadn’t meant...hadn’t realized…

“He blushes,” she murmured, with another chuckle.

He shook his head, “Aren’t you an adult?”

“Low blow, Boone. Questioning my respectability here.”

“Well you were questioning…” he trailed off, and her following laugh filled in his silence.

“Not at all,” she barely whispered before bringing a pair of binoculars to her face and peering through. After some of the energy between them had cooled, she reached over into her pack and pulled out some rations she had brought along, passing one silently to him.

Boone propped up his rifle, so he could glance in the scope every once in a while, while he ate. He tried to keep his mind clear, focused on chewing and nothing else. Their banter was fun, and that was fine, but it wouldn’t go further. He knew that. She was kind, thought highly of him, sure, but she also flirted with folks sometimes. It didn’t mean anything. And besides, she had her revenge to work toward.

The energy had been replaced by tension, or at least he felt tense. He steadfastly refused to look at her again, not with the full moon and her happy again, despite the setback to her own plans. 

His selfishness settled in his chest like a stone. He had seen the centurion and everything else slipped away. It wasn’t fair. And that, ultimately, was why he had to ignore her smiles, her jokes, the way her teeth would sometimes worry her bottom lip. She deserved someone whole and able to follow through.

A hissing sound drew him back to the present, just before her hand was on his face, pressing his cheek until he turned to look in his scope.

At this distance, even with the binoculars and scope it was difficult to see the details of the person. It was a male; his back was turned, though he seemed to be moving cautiously, head moving side to side to watch for anyone following him.

Before he could stop her, Max was moving, binoculars stowed away in her bag, remaining rations shoved into her mouth. He stopped her just before she stood, aiming for her wrist but catching her hip instead. The movement was swift, pulling her back down below the wall before she could be seen by the mystery man who had turned. 

She stared at him, surprise and amusement on her features, eyebrows raised. He nodded fiercely in the direction of their quarry, and she winked, shifting under his hand, which he hadn’t realized was still there. He yanked it back, feeling like she had burned him. 

Max spared him further embarrassment, shifting away and army crawling back toward the stairs. She crept down slowly, giving him the moment to himself before he gathered himself and followed.

They could hear the door shut before they got halfway to the tower, at which point Max picked up her pace. She moved swiftly and quietly between the crates and rail cars until she stopped at the door. She leaned in close to enter the code for the door, and he was still approaching when she slowly, quietly opened the door.

Immediately within was a small room and stairs leading up. She ascended a third of the way before holding out her hand and placing her fingers to her ears.

Boone held his breath, listening alongside her, just enough to catch, in a familiar voice, “Charges are set. Detonation will occur as the train leaves the station.”

Her eyes went wide, and she started back down the stairs, sprinting out the door. Boone had to catch himself from calling out, following after her as swiftly and quietly as he could.

Max was fast. He had known, in that vague way he knew she was good at shooting legionaries with her shotgun. But following after her, as she ran at an all out sprint to the base, made it clear how his own ability paled in light of hers. She was at the door, waving impatiently at him, before he knew it.

Once he was within, she was off again, shouting at the guards to get back.

They looked alarmed, then looked at Boone, who tried to breathlessly explain the situation. He was pretty sure he had gotten out the words bomb, defuse, and train before running through the door as well.

The siren alerting that the train would be leaving soon started to sound, and Boone was feeling nothing but panic. He couldn’t see the courier anywhere, and he was somehow still afraid of making noise.

There was an awful shifting noise, the train lurching into motion.

“Max!” He suddenly found his voice and was able to move again, making a mad dash for the train car.

“Max, you have to get out of there!”

There was the sound of swearing, scraping metal, a grunt, and the loud snap of electricity, and the train stopped with a jolt, causing it to roll back. 

He jumped through the door to find the courier shaking her hand wildly, glaring at some wires that were pulled out of the wall. His heart stopped beating. Or maybe it started again. He didn’t know, only knew the sense of relief that washed over him at the sight of her.

“That stung like a...shit, that hurts,” she moaned, standing and shaking her head, “should probably go explain.”

Something like laughter escaped him, though it sounded hysterical in his mind, as she walked past, patting his shoulder.

Just inside, Max gave the full account to one of the guards, who saluted and ran off to let the colonel - or someone - know about what was happening. Max leaned against the wall, finger in her mouth, eyes narrowed.

“Should get that looked at,” Boone offered.

She shrugged, her eyes following a small company of MPs heading out to the yard they had just come from. Those same eyes lit up, as the soldiers returned some time later, dragging Captain Curtis with them.

She shook her head, lit a cigarette and looked over at the guard that remained, “Codename was Picus. That sound weird to you, too?”

The guard laughed, and Max gave a small wave before turning her cool gray eyes on him. The night seemed to have stretched on, an infinity condensed in a few hours. Nothing had changed, but Boone felt that everything had shifted.

She offered him a lazy grin and nodded toward the stairs, “I’m heading to bed. See you later.”


	10. The Strip, Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make it to the strip, but before Max can get to the Tops, a securitron calling itself Victor convinces her to stop at the Lucky 38. Boone waits outside, disconcerted and worried, until she returns, explaining the situation. She takes him inside to show him the suite that she’s been offered; they find the lounge, and he talks about Bitter Springs but snaps at her when she suggests he return. She agrees to drop it, and the following morning, she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. Boone’s getting all angsty...

True to his word, Hsu gave Max leave to visit the Strip once Curtis was in custody. 

Boone stood by the door while the colonel explained the situation, and advised, smiling coyly at the courier, that she try to stay out of trouble. Max just shrugged before giving the colonel a slap on the back and promising that she wouldn’t do anything he wouldn’t do.

He wondered how well they had gotten to know each other. Did she visit with him when Boone wasn’t there?

Didn’t matter, he reminded himself, as they packed their things. 

They were waiting for the train to return to McCarran when she brought it up, something he hadn’t thought to hear, especially not today, now, when they were just waiting for a train.

“I was talking to some folks around the base, and they mentioned Bitter Springs. Manny had said something too. What’s the deal with that place?”

Boone felt himself stiffen, “We won.”

His tone had piqued her interest. She turned fully to him, “That really all of it?”

He didn’t look at her. His eyes were trained on the distance, remembering the orders coming through - shoot. Shoot. Just keep shooting. 

“Why do you even need to know?”

It came out far harsher than he had intended, and her wince was enough to make him regret his tone. She pulled away, putting some space between them, and put on an air of nonchalance, “Sounds like a ‘you had to be there’ thing. Got it.”

He shrugged, feeling awkward all of a sudden. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done things she wasn’t proud of. And it wasn’t like she was one to judge. But the words, the story, were ashes in his mouth, choking him.

The train arrived soon after, blessing him with a distraction. Others boarded the monorail with them, and they were able to safely keep quiet during the entirety of the ride.

Max went about business as usual once they arrived, breezing past his outburst with the same ease she handled most things. It settled in his gut, though, heavy and sour. He knew she wasn’t judging him. Even if he told her, she wouldn’t judge him. If anything, she would explain that it wasn’t his fault.

And maybe that was the issue.

He didn’t want someone telling him that he wasn’t to blame. He had lived with the guilt for so long that it was part of him; it defined him. To have to face the fact that it wasn’t his fault, that the Bitter Springs situation, while terrible, was also forgivable, would mean facing all of the other things. 

It was one thing to know that karma had it out for you, that the universe would balance itself by punishing you for the wrong you did. It was another thing to simply wish for death. And part of him, a very quiet and hidden part, was afraid that maybe the truth was closer to the latter. He didn’t want to face that. And he didn’t want the courier to figure it out.

They were just inside the Strip, Max staring at the Tops, as if her gaze alone would blow the place open, when a securitron approached. Boone felt his hackles rise, but the face on the screen was different from the others. 

“Well howdy partner. Fancy meeting you here!”

Max shook herself out of whatever thoughts she had been consumed with and smiled, “Victor. What are you doing here?”

“I am here to deliver a message. Before you go find your revenge at the Tops, Mr. House would like to see you in the Lucky 38.”

Boone scoffed, “This a joke? No one has been in there for over a hundred years.”

The smiling cowboy face turned to him, “Well that is true, but no one has been invited before.”

Max turned to Boone, “I’m real curious about this.”

He didn’t like it. Despite the discomfort of this morning’s initial conversation, he wasn’t about to let her go into some unknown place, at the mercy of a securitron. He grunted. She took it as agreement, or maybe she just ignored his concern, and nodded to Victor, “I’m on my way.”

They passed by the Tops and went through the gate that marked the North end of the Strip. The stairs leading up to the door of the 38 were lit up, marking a brilliant path to the entrance.

Max started up the stairs without any concern on her features. Boone still didn’t like it. He couldn’t find a way to get the words out.

At the top of the stairs, it got worse.

“Now I’m sorry, but this invitation is just for you. Your companion will have to wait here.”

Boone almost punched the damn robot. Max turned to look at him, face soft, and it only made him angrier; she was going to go in anyway. What a stupid move. Go into an empty casino on the Strip to meet with Mr. House? Was she completely naive? And to bring no backup. She was going to leave him out there, he just knew it.

“Boone -“

“Don’t,” he warned, turning back toward the Strip to avoid looking at her, “just make it quick.”

“Will do,” she said softly behind him.

He knew he was being an ass again. He should apologize. What if, no, she’d come out, but it was no way to leave things between them. 

Before he could turn back and say he was sorry, tell her to be careful, to come back, she was disappearing through the door with Victor.

All he could do was wait.

Gomorrah was across the way, and he did his best not to look at it. He did his best to ignore the entire place, in fact. The last time he’d been here, Carla had been on his arm, and Manny was buying them drinks. They were there to have a good time, and it ended alright, with Carla spread underneath him, panting and saying “yes” over and over - more an answer to his earlier question than anything else. They were married just after they left the Strip.

He tried not to think about that. About those days. About Carla. About Manny. But it was hard to ignore the memories in every corner.

It had been a fun enough trip. But in truth, a lot of it had been about Boone trying to forget, just for a moment, the events of Bitter Springs. Carla helped. Manny less so. But they had had a good time, done all the typical Vegas things - drank, fucked, and returned to their normal lives afterward wondering if it had even been real.

He wasn’t counting the time. He was barely watching the sun’s arc across the sky. He didn’t notice how the shadows had changed.

He waited.

He remembered pressing Carla against that wall there. Remembered how she smelled. Gun oil and...but no. That wasn’t how she smelled. But it had been there, and it had been Carla. He remembered stumbling out of those doors with Manny, laughing and cutting up. 

And he waited.

He remembered static on the radio and “Maintain position and keep shooting.”

He remembered the ache in his trigger finger, as his ammo dwindled.

He waited.

He tasted bile, and his eyes stung. And still he waited.

He wasn’t counting, but it was two hours before she emerged. She looked the same, maybe more thoughtful, and there was a glint of excitement in her eyes. She nodded toward the building, “Come on.”

He was confused, but he followed. 

The interior was dark and dusty. Faint light came through the grime-covered windows, coloring the stale air. There was a smell, like must that had gotten too old to be must anymore. The soft whir of securitrons came from either side, alerting him to the presence of two of them.

At the center of the room was an elevator, where Victor’s smiling cowboy face awaited. 

Max stepped up and requested the Presidential Suite. He repeated her request, as the elevator door opened. The securitron rolled in with them, and Boone watched the numbers of the elevator tick by until, with a ding, they had arrived.

It was an entire floor, apparently, with two bedrooms - one large enough for three beds - a kitchen and dining area, office, and luxurious bathing area. It was more comfort than he had ever seen or could have imagined.

Max turned to him then with a grin, “Yeah, so I’m thinking this is a good home base, right?”

He spun around slowly, the only question coming to mind “what’s the catch?” But he didn’t voice that aloud, just shook his head in dumbstruck awe.

“I know, it’s a lot. And...I don’t know what I might have to do to keep it, but so far I’ve been told no strings attached. Just have to retrieve something from Benny when I find him.”

“I take it the big bedroom is yours, then?”

Her features, for just a moment, had a dark, heavy-lidded look, but it slid away to her normal casual air, “Well I am the one with the offer, so it only makes sense.”

She turned away to continue the tour, though Boone did take a moment to peek through the door at the room beyond. A large bed dominated the space, with additional furniture making it look like an actual home. It looked...soft.

Max was at the elevator when he turned around. She smirked, pointing her thumb at the closed doors, “There’s something even cooler.”

The elevator took them one more floor and opened on a glass room. No, a glass bar. He stepped out and walked to the window directly across, gazing out at the Mojave for a moment before turning and very nearly gaping at the wall of booze across from him. His eyes fell on Max, who stood, arms crossed, watching him with a smirk.

“What should we open first?”

He huffed a short laugh and shook his head, “Lady’s choice.”

As if she knew what his response would be, she made a beeline to a bottle and reached under the counter to pull out two glasses. She poured generous amounts into each and held his out. He took it with a nod and sniffed it. The smell alone was probably enough to get him drunk.

Max took her own glass, and the bottle, to the oversized window. She stood staring down at the ground far below them, taking occasional sips from her glass. He joined her silently, and they stood together for some time. 

He was on his third glass, or at least he was pretty sure it was his third, when his mouth opened without his permission.

“The Great Khans were there. We were supposed to clear them out. I don’t...remember the reason,” he slurred, staring out at the point in the distance. He could see the hills. He could see the canyon.

“We were set at the mouth of the canyon, where the Khans would be funneling out. But there was a problem. Bad intel maybe.”

He took a long sip, felt her eyes on him from the side, while he continued to stare out the window, unseeing.

“There were civilians coming out. Women, children, elderly. We called in, asked for new orders. They were non-combatants. But the orders stayed the same. I don’t know if they just...maybe they didn’t understand what we were saying. But they said to shoot. Keep shooting.”

His grip tightened on the glass, knuckles going white. He brought it to his lips, poured the rest of the liquid down his throat. He couldn’t look at her, didn’t want to see judgement or pity in her eyes. Worse than that, he didn’t want to find the lack of them.

“So I kept shooting.”

Silence for a beat before a deep inhale on his left, “Still think about it?”

“All the time. Even when I’m asleep.”

The snap of a match, flash of light, and the smell of stale smoke, “Ever thought about going back?”

He damn near broke the glass in his hand, “What?”

“It could be cathartic,” she explained, waving her hand with the cigarette, when he turned to gape at her. 

“How would going there help? If I see it every time I close my eyes, what good would it be to go see it again? No. No that’s a terrible...why would you even suggest that?”

“Sorry. I keep butting in where I don’t belong, and-“

“Yeah, you really do. This is none of your business.”

“Boone-“

“Stop acting like...like we’re…”

Before he could finish his sentence, his thought, figure out where his anger really was focused, he was moving past her, back to the elevator. The securitron with the cowboy face smiled at him, reminded him that only Max was allowed to push his buttons, so to speak.

“It’s fine, Victor, let him go.”

If he had been just a mite more clear headed, he might have caught the slightest hitch in her voice. As it was, he barely even remembered the ride down, the walk across the casino floor, the march through the door and back outside. 

He certainly didn’t realize where he was heading until he was asked to check in his weapons. He only hesitated a moment before slinging his rifle free and practically throwing it on the counter. He took his ticket without looking and headed straight to the bar.

Boone was well into his cups, but none of it mattered. He wanted it to stop, wanted to stop seeing the people spilling out of the opening in the rock, stop hearing the cries of pain.

He was on his fourth...fifth? drink when the woman approached. 

She didn’t give her name. Her hand was on his thigh. She had the right hair, a close enough face, and if he closed his eyes, then it didn’t matter anyway. She felt the same. She took his hand - long, delicate, smooth fingers - and led him away. From the crowd. From the noise. From the screams and the blood.

She was soft, open.

“Carla,” he breathed against her neck. 

“Baby,” she whispered back.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, ignored the moisture on his cheeks. 

And when he woke, it was to an empty bed, pain behind his eyes, fewer caps, and a sick feeling that he had done something stupid.


	11. Benny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone catches up to Max at the Tops, after figuring out where she went. He finds her seducing Benny, a scene that makes his skin crawl. He follows carefully and listens to her exact her revenge, the entire time feeling sick to his stomach. When she emerges from the bedroom to throw up in the bathroom, he forgets his own discomfort. He realizes that facing his demons may not be a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire behemoth is officially written. So I’ll continue posting, as I edit chapters, but there’s nothing else necessarily to write. I still don’t know how the hell this got so long...
> 
> Also note there is some implied sexual content in this chapter.

Boone stood outside the 38 for what felt like a day, hoping the doors would open, that Max would walk out with her quiet, thoughtful face, or even an angry one. They didn’t move. The lights kept up their incessant pattern up the stairs. 

He couldn’t recall their conversation entirely. He had spoken about Bitter Springs. She had said something that made him leave. And then...Carla?

But that wasn’t right. Carla’s head had disintegrated in his scope. Whoever he was with last night wasn’t her. Was a pale comparison. 

The door didn’t open.

As night fell, unsure what else to do, he headed back to McCarran. He would come back again. Or figure out where she might be. He focused on each next step, tried not to think about what her absence and silence might mean. Perhaps she was just busy. Or out. Perhaps she had been alerted to his presence and chose to ignore it.

He wasn’t sure which of those options was the worst, and he found himself staring up at the canvas of the tent.

He tried the next day to get in. The doors didn’t open, but the securitron outside didn’t shoot, either. 

Boone groaned, spoke into its screen, “Come on, Max. Where are you? Just let me know if you’re alright.”

The doors remained closed, and the robot’s face didn’t change.

It wasn’t until day three that he thought to ask Hsu, passing by his office and remembering the familiar way he and the courier had spoken. The colonel seemed mostly surprised to see him, doing a double take and leaning to look behind him.

“Max with you? I’d have thought you two would be at the Tops by now.”

Boone had a hard time covering his surprise and curiosity. 

“After the report I sent that he was back to business as usual. He’s been spending most of his time on the main floor. Figure it was a good chance for her to get in.”

Something like panic gripped him, “So she’s just going to go in there? With a plan maybe? Hopefully.”

Hsu’s face twisted, “I thought you were her plan. We told her last night.”

He didn’t say anything further, just turned and made his way - he wouldn’t call it a run - to the monorail. He could come back for his things. He had his gun. If she had left, it was while he was away. Would she have made another stop somewhere?

On his return trip, he tried to think about what her plan might be. Max, despite her preference for the shotgun, was not someone to march blindly into a viper's nest. Even at her most angry, he had only seen her calm, even funny.

Of course it didn’t matter how smart or calm you were, if you were a dead woman walking into your killer’s home turf. 

Had it been worth it? he found himself wondering. Whatever comfort he’d found that night, he had abandoned her on her quest. Again and again he had done this. Why did she keep letting him do this? She let him pursue his empty revenge, while she waited for her answers.

Now she was right on the cusp, and he had left.

The doors opened, and he knew that he would spend the rest of his life, however long, making it up to her.

Boone was entering the Tops minutes later, turning in his rifle. He felt his hands were trembling, but he kept his gait steady onto the casino floor. He scanned the tables from behind his glasses, looking for the familiar leather armor.

When his eyes did land on her, he didn’t realize it right away. Max was attractive, of course, but she spent her days in the practical armor of a courier. He had never seen her in anything else. But there she stood, a goddamn image.

She was in, of all things, high heels, a ridiculous shoe choice she would normally never make, and one that he now had a shameless need to see her in again. Her calves, shapely and well-muscled from their frequent walking, slid up to the bottoms of her thighs, all in stockings. The dress she wore flared above her knees but cinched into a fitted bodice, a red that brought out her features. The makeup she had donned helped, too.

His jaw was slack, and he didn’t know how long he let his eyes travel over every inch before he realized what was happening.

“I think you’re confused,” a greasy looking man in a checkered suit was saying.

Max’s hair was down, and she twisted it around a finger, her face the picture of confusion, “I know for a fact that I haven’t met you before. I’m sure I’d remember.”

That had to be the guy then. Boone took a step closer before remembering himself. 

“So you,” Benny stopped mid sentence and looked at his counterparts, a dark and disgusting smile playing on his lips, “Yeah, I must have you confused with someone else.”

“Guess I just have one of those faces,” she demurred, voice breathy.

“So...you have no questions or…?”

Max looked so different. The word innocent bounced around in his mind, and Boone could have laughed.

“Well, baby doll, I guess the only thing I can say is,” and here he leaned forward and whispered something to her with a smirk. 

And then he was walking, hand at the small of her back. They passed by, and her eyes slid to the side, landed on him, and widened for a moment. Shock was first, then something that looked like...guilt? Shame? Embarrassment? They slid away again, and he found he wasn’t sure what he needed to do.

Boone had never been good at games where he had to keep his hand close to his chest, but something in him said it was imperative at the moment. He feigned disinterest, eyes tracking their movement behind dark lenses. When they rounded the corner on the far side of the room, he made a show of carefully, unhurriedly making his way to the other gambling floor.

Max disappeared into an elevator - looked private. 

He couldn’t go up right away, he knew. Had to make it look good. Had to put on a show, so he could get up there. A hand of blackjack, he knew, would take about a minute. Five hands, then a few pulls on the slots, and he would follow. He grabbed some chips from the back and returned to the gaming floor just beyond the elevator they had gone in.

The simple game had never seemed so complicated. The numbers on the cards didn’t make sense. All he saw was that hand on her back.

He watched the time closely, and after his fifth hand, he went to the closest slot machine, very nearly bending the lever with his grip. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Sixteen.

The casino was at least pretty empty during the day, so it was easy for him to slip into the elevator unseen. He had no way of knowing what floor they had gone to, and he could only hope it was direct access.

When the doors reopened, he gave himself only a few seconds to get his bearings before moving into cover. There was at least one guard that he could see. Luckily the hallway held old, dust-covered plants that made for easy cover.

The guard kept a consistent tempo on his route. After a few passes, Boone had the count. He would have to go door by door, but he felt he could do it.

One. Out from behind the plant. 

Two. First door on the right - locked, no sound. 

Three. First door on the left - open. No one inside.

Four. Behind a plant.

Wait.

One. Out from behind the plant.

Two. Next door on the left.

Three. Next door on the right.

Four. Behind a trash can.

Wait.

One. Out from behind the garbage container.

Two. Door on the - double doors, here. Slightly ajar. 

He slipped inside to find a sitting area and on the far side another door. He slowly, carefully closed the double doors behind him before edging closer to the other side of the room. He leaned against the worn wood for a moment, then recoiled.

The voices beyond were flirtatious. There was the sound of giggling. The pauses between words had to be...something else.

Was she...with him?

There was the rustling of clothing, then, a firmer voice. Stammering. And then, loud enough that he could hear, “I remember, you sonofabitch. I remember.”

Gagging, then?

He didn’t know if he should go in or...he thought of her face, as she passed. He thought about how he had left, how she had received the news while she was alone...he opened the door.

She was still mostly in the dress - the top was pulled down, revealing her back and shoulders to him, the skirt still around her hips and thighs. She was straddling Benny, whose pants were tugged down slightly, shirt open, hands wrapped his throat.

“I remember,” she repeated, over and over until Benny had stopped fighting, stopped moving, clearly no longer drawing breath.

“Max,” he tried, softly.

Her head snapped up, and she looked over one shoulder at him, eyes wide again. She looked between him and the body beneath her a few times before practically ripping herself free and rushing past him. Boone hit the edge of the doorframe and watched in confused silence.

She ducked through a secondary door in the room, and he heard the distinct sounds of retching. He followed without thought, kneeling down and gently gathering her hair behind her, rubbing her back gently.

They sat in the cramped bathroom for some time, while Max dry heaved and coughed, Boone saying nothing. It was unlikely they would be caught, and if anyone did come in, he would kill them.

After some time, she brought a hand to her face, rubbing her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He removed his hand, then, so she could have full motion. 

Her dress was still draped over her hips, and while it could be crossing a boundary, he couldn’t stop himself from tugging the top back up. He maneuvered her arms through the sleeves and closed the back, re-buttoning it gently.

She removed herself, sliding along the wall to the door and out onto the couch, where she unsuccessfully tried to light a match. He pushed himself up and followed, prying the matches from her trembling hands and lighting the cigarette for her.

Max took a long drag, her eyes closing momentarily, as she leaned back. With the cigarette in her hand, she seemed to be coming into herself, slowly but surely. After a few inhalations, she opened her eyes and traced his features, “You came back.”

He nodded, crossed his arms, and leaned against the door, partially blocking her view of the body on the bed. 

“He should have a...a platinum chip,” she began pushing herself up to standing.

“I can-“

“This is my task, Boone. Mine,” her voice was sharp, defensive.

She stood then, the dress making a swishing noise that gave her pause. She glowered at the skirt of the dress before slipping past him again. She paused only briefly, looking down at the body, before beginning to rifle through his suit.

As she retrieved items, she set them aside - a beautiful gun, caps, a key, and finally a package. This last item she held, staring down at it, while one hand lifted to her head. There was a beat of silence before she looked up again, tossing the package to him, “Let’s see where this key leads.”

Boone stashed the package and followed her again to the back of the bedroom, where she unlocked and opened a door, to be greeted by another securitron with an unusual face, calling itself Yes Man.

While he wasn’t entirely invested in the conversation, Max seemed rapt by what the robot had to say. So long as she wasn’t a shaking, retching mess anymore, he was ok.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she sighed, pushing herself off of the wall after speaking with Yes Man for the better part of an hour, “I’ll be back, I’m sure.”

She walked silently past where Benny’s corpse was spread on the bed and to the door that would take them into the hallway. She inhaled deeply, “You should go out ahead of me, so I can cover, ok?”

He nodded silently and opened the door just enough to peek out. He had time. He slipped out and went straight to the elevator. He heard the swish of her skirt, as she exited the room, the door shutting, a dainty giggle, and then the sound of her heels on the carpeted floor, as she made her way into the lift with him. 

They rode it down in silence.

The walked through the casino in silence.

They exited the Tops in silence.

And when they were outside, she sighed, “Need to get my armor.”

“You, uh, you going to be...I mean, are you…”

She looked sideways at him, “Why did you come back?”

“I only needed air. I never meant to...I didn’t...couldn’t let you go in there alone, anyway.”

She nodded absently.

“And I realized you’re right. Maybe. I mean, I’ve been thinking about what you said, about Bitter Springs, and I think you’re right. Maybe I should go back.”

She grimaced slightly, her eyes flicking to the casino behind them, but she just nodded again, “Ok, well just let me know if...when you want to go.”

“Max.”

She sighed and turned fully to him.

“Are you ok?”

She wrapped her arms around her torso and looked away again, “I’d like to get back in my armor, please.”

He understood, then, and gave a short not, “Let’s get you back to the 38 then.”


	12. Bitter Springs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He leads them to Bitter Springs. They watch the sunrise together, closer than he’s allowed himself to be so far. As the sky brightens, he realizes that something’s wrong - an attack is starting. The battle ensues, the two of them and a small handful of NCR troops fighting off waves of legionaries to keep the refugees safe. When they come out the other side, he realizes that he needs to start living again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this mission. Boone just opens up about all of it, and it really sounds like something that fuck with someone long after it was over.

Max didn’t bring up Bitter Springs again. She also, he noticed, didn’t return the package to Mr. House. When they arrived back at the 38, after her confrontation with her would-be killer, she had stashed it at the bottom of a footlocker, like it was a dirty magazine or carton of cigarettes. He didn’t ask, and she didn’t offer explanation. 

At first Boone didn’t want to ask her to go because it was clear she still was dealing with whatever had happened with Benny behind that closed door. He had an idea. He didn’t think they had necessarily had sex, but there had been some amorous intentions on Benny’s side, at least, and he was confident they had at least kissed. It was enough, anyway, that more than once he had walked into the communal bathing area to see her wrapped in a towel, arms and leg red and raw from vigorous scrubbing. So again he didn’t ask. And she didn’t offer explanation.

Two days after the events at the Tops, Boone woke in the middle of the night to alarms blaring throughout the 38. His stomach in his throat, he scrambled out of bed, grabbing whatever weapon was closest and ran through the entire suite, looking for an intruder. It was empty. The alarms continued, as he tried desperately to call the elevator, but it wouldn’t move. Panic was thick in the air, as he considered ways to escape, wondered where the fuck Max had gone, and imagined all of the terrible things that could be happening. And then the alarm stopped. 

Max returned a few hours later, something like resolve tinged with regret in the steel of her eyes. She said nothing, so he didn’t ask.

By day three, she announced that she wanted to see if there was anything worth knowing about the other tribes, and she dragged Boone and ED-E with her to the Ultraluxe. As with so many of her ventures, it had turned into a bit of a shitshow. At least that’s how it felt, when they were crouching in a kitchen, her in another goddamn dress, and him in a suit, while they tried to save some rotten, rich asshole from getting eaten.

But Max had very much been herself again. They had found their silent stride again, with her not needing to say what she needed and knowing exactly what he needed, to get out of there alive. She was as charming and funny as ever, enough to get them into the good graces of the tribe leaders to weed out their bad eggs.

He knew she was waiting to see if he would actually follow through. And after the victory with the White Glove Society, he thought it was as good a time as any.

They were eating in the dining area of the 38 when he finally thought to bring it up, “So about Bitter Springs.”

She didn’t say anything, but she shifted slightly, her grey eyes focused suddenly and entirely on him.

“I was thinking we could go soon.”

She nodded, her face serious. And that was it. The next morning she had been waiting for him, dressed in her travel armor, bag packed, and ready to go.

Once on the road, it was business as usual. They silently worked together to take down any resistance, made camp at night, cared for their weapons, and for the most part kept to themselves.

For Boone, at least, he was trying to prepare himself for returning to the place of his shame. Something gnawed at him in the background, like some sort of static getting progressively louder, the closer they got to Bitter Springs. He felt certain that he was coming close to his fate, could hear the reaper’s footsteps behind him. But every time he turned, it would just be Max, giving him a curious raised eyebrow.

He was taking them the long way, adding distance and hours between them and the final destination. No doubt, with her Pip Boy, Max knew, but as ever, she said nothing. The wasteland stretched on beyond them. 

For the most part, the journey was quiet. On the second day, over halfway to their destination, they came across a young Deathclaw. Despite his shouted commands for her to get out of the damn way, she got in close, as she was wont to do, blasting it in the face and chest with her shotgun, while it roared in her face and took swipes at her that she barely missed. He knew for a fact that at least one struck home, since her combat armor was dented by the time the proverbial smoke cleared.

Boone very nearly let her have it that night, playing the moment over and over in his mind. Then again, the Mojave wasn’t done with her, and who was he to judge someone for taking unnecessary risk? Going back to Bitter Springs was walking into the devil’s own plans, so he didn’t exactly have the high road.

In the middle of day three, they arrived, the dusty road winding toward the canyon. He already knew what they would find - the lake to the right, with the old campers, and to the left, a short path and a high cropping that made a great sniper’s nest.

Max stayed very quiet, as they walked up the hill to the main part of what was now an NCR refugee camp. It was clear enough that this was no booming town. It smelled - the mass of humanity camped out in the heat, waiting for something like salvation that would never come. Across the tents and makeshift buildings were the tags of the Great Khans, now overlapped with NCR propaganda.

And at the very top of that hill, the tents and flags of the military posted there. It was a small company - not even worthy of the title. As she always did, Max spoke to the people there, offered what she could, quiet and unassuming, but almost everyone knew who she was already.

When they had gone through the camp, Boone sighed and looked down at her, “We were sent by Camp Golf to clear out some Khans who had been making trouble for some settlements. I guess one of the settlers was connected because we sent everything we had.”

It felt different telling her the story now, sober, on the site of so much bloodshed. 

“We figured this was a gang hideout, but,” and he looked up at the buildings, traced the shapes, cleared his throat, “they led us to their home. There’s a ridge, called Coyote’s Tail on the south side. That’s where we set up.”

Max turned her steel eyes in the direction, and he could almost see her retracing their steps, picturing it in her mind. Without speaking she turned and started back the way they had come. He followed, swallowing thickly but hesitant to take a sip of water. The sun was finally starting to descend, making it somewhat cooler, and the breeze came through the canyon.

She walked unerringly to the ridge, as if she had been there. She climbed deftly up the side then stood to survey the area. He followed behind, motioning toward the area ahead of them, “Canyon 37. That’s what the NCR calls the pass down there. It was the Khan’s only means of escape, so we set up guard here, while the main force attacked from the front.”

Max’s eyes flicked to where the main troops would have been, then back to the pass.

“Our standing orders were to shoot on sight.”

“What happened?” Her voice was soft; she knew what happened, but she was going to make him face it all, he knew.

Better that way. Before it was too late anyway.

He sighed, rubbed his face, “Main force got spotted too soon. We heard shooting. They started coming through Pass 37 in bunches. Was all wrong though. Women. Kids. Elderly.”

He looked down at the pass, could see the faces of the women coming down the hill, “We radioed to confirm our orders, but command didn’t get what we were seeing. They told us…”

There was one young woman, had to have been early twenties at the oldest. She had been helping a small boy down from a rock.

“They told us to keep shooting until we were out of ammo. So that’s what we did.”

He watched the phantoms of his memory come stumbling out of the pass, felt his finger twitching. Then felt a hand, warm and gentle, but calloused, on his arm, “You did what any soldier would do.”

He looked down at the hand, back at her face, “Yeah, well, I’m not a soldier anymore. Those rules don’t seem like much of an excuse now. I...anyway.”

His gaze shifted around them again, and still he could see those ghosts, “I don’t know why we’re here. I thought...maybe it would help me see things better. I’d...I’d like to stay here for the night. Think some things over.”

The hand on his arm squeezed and then was gone, “Of course. We can do that.”

He nodded his thanks. Max, never one to sit still, went about unpacking their sleeping rolls. She set his water canister near where he was standing, and he heard her slip quietly over the side, probably to gather some firewood. He considered asking her to go back to the refugee camp, so he could be alone with his thoughts. With the ghosts. But somehow he felt more terrified of that prospect than the thought of dying. And the idea of the look in her eyes if he asked…

He heard the strike of her flint, then felt a gentle warmth at the back of his legs. 

The sun was setting in earnest by then, the sky royal with the hues of dusk. Only then did he sit, and she followed suit, staring out at the west in silence. No, it was good she was here, blanketing the place in that special quiet of hers - the soft, comforting silence that made the ghosts less prevalent.

“I think,” her words came to him slowly, as if they had a long way to travel between them, “that you have been carrying this weight so long you don’t know what to do if it goes away. Will you...float? Up there? Just disappear into the sky? Or maybe you’ll have to forgive yourself. Or maybe you can’t, and then where does that leave you?”

He opened his mouth to speak but could find nothing to say. She was right, of course. This had weighed on him every single day, since the first morning after it happened. It was with him when he met Carla. It was with him when he married her. It was with him when he left the service. It was with him when they tried to make it on the Strip, but he couldn’t stand the thought of her waitressing for NCR soldiers who were just like him. It was in Novac. It was in the mouth of that damn dinosaur. It was in his scope, staring down at a woman for sale in a sea of red, and it was laughing at him when he pulled the trigger then.

How could he forgive himself? For any of it? How could anyone?

“You can’t take it back. But you can do better.”

He cast a look at her, his only indication that he was listening, that she should continue.

“It would be easy enough to lie down and accept the blame, wait for some hand to come out of the sky and crush you with a righteous fist.”

This had him looking up at the darkened sky, stars twinkling into existence with the sun’s departure.

“Maybe too easy, really, to run headlong into it. Or you could go out there and try to tip the scales back to balanced. If a wrong was done, then something right needs to be done, so all of that bad doesn’t sink everything - you and everything...everyone...around you.”

Boone thought over the past few months, traveling with Max. She did a lot of good for a lot of people. She talked about trying to distribute the wealth of the Mojave, the way she distributed the power at Helios. 

“What did you do, then?”

She shrugged, “I don’t...remember. Not a lot. About whatever happened before. But...I figure it couldn’t all be good, right? Not if I ended up in a shallow grave.”

“I killed Mr. House,” she confessed, not looking at him.

He couldn’t imagine her doing anything to hurt anyone. Not unless they hurt her first. Unless they deserved it. He must have deserved it.

“Well what would you do, if you were me?”

Max took a deep breath, stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her hands, tilting her head back to look up at the sky. He let his eyes wander for a moment - just a moment - at the shape of her against the firelight. 

It was some time before she spoke, something he truly appreciated about her - her patience before speaking, “A lot of people in the wasteland take life. Not a lot of them help preserve it. Not a lot give it. And...not a lot of places are out there for soldiers who wake up one day and realize they’re no longer a soldier.”

He sat with the words for a moment, “So you think I should...help other soldiers?”

She sat up straighter, nodded, an energy in her words and limbs now, as she spoke, “Think about it, Boone. You’re not the only one who’s been given orders, carried out those orders, and had to swallow the bitter taste of them later.”

“That’s true. But I don’t have the answers, Max.”

She flashed a smile at him, something genuine and bolstering, “You don’t have to, Boone. You can train with doctors, or you can just...try.”

In that instant, he believed he could. All this time waiting to pay with his life, and he was being offered the chance to do even more. He nodded slowly, which made her smile widen.

They talked for a while, Max offering suggestions, and Boone slowly building a plan. First thing, he would help Max finish whatever it was she had started, that much he knew for certain. And then, when the dust had settled, then he could pursue something more.

He slept deeply that night.

Max’s voice woke him. Soft, whispering in his ear, her breath tickling the hair on his neck. He turned into the sound, seeking her warmth, her lips.

Her voice came louder, not right in his ear, but close by, “Boone.”

His eyes snapped open, and he found her kneeling nearby, crouched for cover, in the low light of dawn, “Something’s not right.”

He fought the instinct to bolt upright and instead rolled, reaching for his rifle and pulling the scope up. A flash of red, “Legion.”

“They’re going after the refugee camp,” she hissed, and before he could protest, she was moving.

Perhaps he would go down in a blaze of glory after all.

He loaded his rifle, checking every so often to see where Max had gone. The Legion soldiers were marching up the road from the South. With the semi-darkness of dawn, they had some cover, but then, so did she. She crept at the side of the road, waiting for them to pass, and then she swung in behind them.

At her first shot, he took aim and fired. Two down, and it turned to chaos down there. Max used the butt of her gun to smack one soldier in the mouth, then shot another. He took out the scout trying to separate from the crowd. The small squad of six was down in about two minutes, and then Max was on the move again.

The sounds of fighting from the camp were clear, even beyond the rocks, and she was sprinting up the hill ahead of him.

Things got less clear after that. An endless string of fighting. Shoot until you run out of ammo, he heard repeated in his head, but he had no time to be disgusted. The Legion kept coming, first foot soldiers, then frumentarii. Shot after shot until it felt like some meditation.

He was on a ridge, aiming, shooting, aiming, shooting. Every once in a while, Max would appear in his scope, a protective angel, driving a soldier away from a refugee. 

There was a skittering noise behind him. Something like...pebbles falling down hill. He startled at the noise, began to turn, and then the world went black.


	13. Better Springs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone begins the healing process after the battle at Bitter Springs. In and out of consciousness, he finally begins to understand that he means something to the courier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of hate this chapter title. I didn’t want to do a play on words, but it happened, and I couldn’t be bothered to change it. Short and fluffy. Mostly fluffy.
> 
> Also head’s up - this is all written! Yay! But I’m fixing some continuity errors, so these are going up just a little slower than I anticipated.

Boone’s mouth felt dry. His throat burned, and his head ached. He kept his eyes closed, the light behind his lids clear enough to mark it as daylight. The world felt strange, swirling, almost. He knew if he really woke, eyes opened, up and down and right and left would have no meaning. He was tired.

Beside him there was a quick intake of breath, then the lightest pressure on his cheek, larger but no less gentle pressure on his chest, and quietly against his skin, “You’re ok.”

The voice was familiar. It sounded relieved. It made his skin tingle. And then he was consumed with darkness again.

The next time he woke, his eyes sprung open. He knew better than to move too suddenly, so his eyes did the work, scanning the area. He was in a tent. Beside him was a chair, pulled close but currently empty, save for a pack of cigarettes and a Nuka Cola. On the far side of the space was a recognizable figure.

She was standing over a patient, arguing with a man who must have been the doctor, “I can save the leg, Markland. Just get out of my way.”

“Look-“

“If it doesn’t work, we can amputate, but _trust me_.”

“You’ve barely slept.”

“I need this. I could use the distraction.”

“Fine.”

He remembered nothing after that, as sleep overcame him once more.

It was darker this time, easier for his eyes to adjust. Beside him was the sound of a page turning, and he looked over to see Max flipping idly through a magazine. His movement caught her eye because she nearly jumped clear out of the chair before she met his gaze, waiting to see if he was fully cognizant yet.

“Hey,” he rasped, “you save the leg?”

Her eyes widened at first, flicked to the other side of the tent, and she nodded with a grin.

“Can I get some water?”

“Oh, right,” she shook her head and reached over him - he ignored the feeling of her so close - and brought a bottle of water up to his lips, “need help?”

He shook his head and took the bottle from her, sitting up slightly and taking a sip, “What happened?”

She grimaced, looked like she was about to reach out and touch him, but pulled her hand back to her hair, pushing it back with an air of nonchalance, “Well, you were on the ridge, taking out legionaries like you were born to it. One of their damn hounds had been above you, snarling and snapping down at you. It teetered for a minute - was funny for a second, even. Fell, ran into you, and you went tumbling. It was not a very short fall.”

“Damage?”

She frowned, hands restless still, pushing up her glasses, taking them off, putting them on, “Broken _and_ bruised ribs. A broken leg. In a few places. Concussion - bad one. Basically you’re me from that tangle on the road except you had to go and out-do me. Oh, and a bruised wrist. Aim might be a little off for a few days yet. Got you in here as soon as I realized what happened-“

“The refugees?”

At that she smiled, “All safe.”

He nodded gratefully, took another sip, and tested his ribs, sitting up slowly. There was some protest, but he could move, at least, “How long have I been here?”

“Couple of days.”

He raised an eyebrow at her when she wouldn’t look him directly in the eyes.

“Four days.”

“You have the party while I was out?”

She smiled, but by her look, and knowing her, he suspected she had spent those days in here, helping heal the injured, the sick, and looking after him. He remembered the cigarettes and cola on the chair when he had woken. He remembered...her voice, soft and so quietly relieved, breathed against his ear. He swallowed another sip of water, nodded.

“When can we head out?” That was safer territory.

“A day or so. The camp still needs some things done, and I can get to those while you convalesce here.”

He smirked, “Going out on your own? Sounds dangerous.”

She tilted her chin up, mock offended, “I did just fine before I ran into you, Craig Boone.”

“I’m sure.”

She was quiet for a moment, looking down at her hands, “I was worried. When I saw you there. I thought...I was afraid...I’m glad you’re alright.”

He didn’t really know what to say. How to respond to the quiet intensity of her voice. He had come here planning to die. He hadn’t thought that it might cause Max distress.

When he said nothing, she cleared her throat, stood, “I’m going to go find you something to eat.” 

Then as an afterthought, voice stern, “Stay here.”

She grinned after saying it, and he gave a huffed chuckle at the poor joke. He leaned back against the pillow, arm propped over his head, and the bottle of water held on his chest. He was relieved to see that she had made it, happy to hear that the refugees were safe, and he felt...something. Renewed, maybe. He couldn’t think of a word for it, but it was humming through him in waves.

Max returned with a skewer of meat, which she held out to him. He sat up again, slowly, hoping to be able to eat and keep it down. She returned to her chair with a sigh, opening a Nuka Cola.

“Have you eaten?”

She nodded.

He narrowed his eyes, looking at the skewer in his hand. It was fresh, and she hadn’t been gone long. Given the situation here, there was no way they had an excess of food. He stared at her, willing her to tell him the truth, but she said nothing, just took a sip of the soda, eyes on his. His stomach growled. He frowned and got back to his food.

Here they were again, Max going without to help him. Here she sat, while the Mojave waited. Here she sat, drinking a Nuka Cola, while he ate. He had resolved to devote himself to her cause, to help her, and once again, he was failing. He bit back his self-recrimination long enough to reach out for her wrist, giving it a tug, letting himself, for a moment, feel its warmth, the softness of her skin there.

“I haven’t asked...what do you want to do about all of the...mess?”

She stared at him confused, her eyes flicking wildly between his face and the spot where he touched her.

“With New Vegas. Seems like everyone wants your opinion, wants you to do something. And I haven’t even asked…”

Realization dawned, and she nodded, leaning back in the chair with something like a groan, “I don’t...know. Far as I’m concerned, it all comes down to how I’m most likely to take out the Legion.”

The memory of Silus came to him, the rat prodding at her for answers, and he didn’t even want to ask, but the words were tumbling out, “Why do you hate them?”

Confusion again, “Why do I hate the Legion?”

He nodded, “Yeah. What did...did they…?”

Her face soured, and she shook her head, “Boone, they’re awful. They take and sell slaves. I could never, in good conscience, let a system like that come into power.”

Boone wasn’t sure exactly why he was relieved at her reasoning, but he didn’t dwell on it, “So...what do you think?”

For a moment, she looked worried, her teeth digging into her bottom lip before she finally threw up her hands and sighed, “Honestly? I think I might take Yes Man up on his offer. I don’t know. I just...I feel like the NCR will try to make the Mojave the NCR. And I get it. I think their intentions are good, but they took Hoover Dam once and already might lose it. New Vegas needs to be the center of power, and Mr. House is...was...his way of doing things didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.”

He was honestly surprised. Max was never one to back down from a challenge or to shirk her duties. She had helped a lot of people. She didn’t seem power hungry to him, either. If anything, he would have thought she’d prefer to stay out of all of it. And maybe she did. She didn’t speak much, and her tone was clearly frustrated, as she said more than he had ever at once from her.

He nodded slowly, and relief came to her features, “I don’t know. I don’t want to be in charge. I just...want everyone to be safe and happy. However that needs to happen.”

“Well soon as I’m out of this damn bed, we’ll head back, so you can start making that decision.”

Max’s face softened, her eyes tracing slowly over his face, while a small smile danced on her lips, “Thank you, Boone.”

He just nodded again, his eyelids feeling heavy.

“You should rest. A couple more hours, I think, and you’ll be good as new.”

“Thanks, Max.”

His eyes were already closed. He had forgotten about his dinner until he felt the now-barren skewer stick gently removed from his loosening grip. The threadbare blanket was pulled over him. And as he was drifting off completely, he felt that gentle pressure again. But this time he recognized the source: a hand on his chest, and her soft, smiling lips on his cheek. Warmth grew in his chest, and then he was asleep


	14. The Strip, pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a bid to take over New Vegas, Max begins working with the tribes. At Gomorrah, a place that Boone never thought he’d enter again, they meet Joana, and Max makes it her life’s mission to reunite her with her Omertà lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway there now! So when I was going for the NCR ending once upon a time, the stupid Omertas got in the way. But I liked the idea of this quest bringing out the hopeless romantic in Max. So here we are.

Two more days of less strenuous work saw him fit for duty once more. Boone and Max spent their last day with the refugees of Bitter Springs restocking their food supply and finding the source of a series of sabotage attempts. He also took some time to himself to walk the area, to let himself think about what had happened, feel his regret and shame. And when night had fallen, and he returned to camp, he didn’t read into the feeling that washed over him at seeing Max waiting for him by the fire.

They bid farewell to the camp on the dawn of day three and made their way back to New Vegas. And it was then that Max began to share her overall plan.

“I want there to be peace, Boone. I think if the tribes and the NCR can come to some sort of agreement, maybe we can kick out the Legion once and for all and then just...live. Mr. House wanted to control everything. Maybe he was right. But I...I don’t know.”

He recognized the exhaustion in her voice.

And he watched the pieces falling into place in his mind’s eye. She had never seemed overly familiar with the NCR - its laws or policies - but she always helped them. She helped the tribes, too, finding clever ways to work with them, instead of against them, smoothing over the rivalries and disagreements between them and soldiers everywhere they went.

If he had been paying attention, it would have been clear all along what her endgame would be.

“What can I do?”

She graced him with a smile, “Just keep watching my back, First Recon.”

That he could do. And would. Until she dismissed him or he died.

“When we get back to the Strip, I’ll work with Yes Man to really understand what we would need to do. I’ve got the White Glove Society on board, I’m confident.”

He frowned slightly at the memory.

“And I should be able to work with the Great Khans. Who else is on the Strip?”

He knew the answer but hesitated to give it, though he found himself unable to truly deny her anything, “The Omertas. Run the Gomorrah.”

She snapped and nodded, “Right. Any insight?”

“They’re not the best option out there,” he scowled.

His tone had her eyebrow raised in question, but she just nodded, as if to say that she trusted his judgment and would not press on the issue, “I’d like to at least check them out, so I can give Yes Man some sort of direction.”

“Fair enough. Just...try to sneak a weapon in, if you can.”

She snorted, “Where would you suggest I hide one?”

He had a few ideas. He just shrugged.

They arrived late on the second night, and Max led them straight to the 38, muttering that she wouldn’t be able to charm a whore as tired and road-worn as she was. He chuckled, as they stepped onto the elevator, and they parted ways once they arrived at the Presidential Suite, Max to clean up, and Boone to fall into a dreamless sleep.

Despite her sense of urgency, they didn’t make it to Gomorrah until a couple of days later, Max repeatedly advising that he could sit this one out, if he wanted. If it was because of his injuries or because she remembered that the place held some significance to him, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t letting her go into that viper’s nest alone.

So it was the pair stood outside the doors, looking up at the bright sign, neither of them terribly pleased to be there.

Max groaned and shuffled toward the door, “Let’s see what we find, then.”

He followed.

They had packed light, knowing that their weapons would be held, so that at the anticipated request, Max handed over a shotgun and nothing else. She had left most of her gear at the 38, keeping only enough to avoid suspicion - no one traveled around New Vegas without some sort of heat.

Boone reluctantly parted with his rifle, noticing the flash of recognition in the eyes of some of the staff. He hoped Max wouldn’t notice it.

They wandered the main floor for a while, Max feigning interest in a game of Blackjack long enough to pick up about ten extra chips before enquiring about the bar. Convinced there was nothing of interest in the front room, and sure that her time spent had been sufficient to avoid arousing suspicion, she led him back through the hallways beyond.

“Isn’t there a damn bar around here?” She hissed.

He tugged on her armor, pulling her to a stop, and nodding back with his head, “This way.”

“You see anything yet?”

“Impatient?”

She shrugged, “I feel icky.”

He smirked, opening the door that would lead into the bar, allowing her to pass by, ducking slightly under his arm. A voice in the back of his head scolded him - he was getting careless, finding small ways to have her closer to him. It would only lead to trouble, to heartache, to a let down.

Max took one look at the darkened room, the stage of dancers the focal point, and turned back to him, “This is, uh-“

“There’s a courtyard,” he soothed, waving to the door on the far side,”if you want some fresh air?”

She nodded and headed that way, stopping suddenly and going to the bar to order a drink. Whether it was because she was still trying to put on the air of someone who wanted to be there or because she really wanted that drink, he wasn’t sure, but he said thanks anyway when she slipped a glass into his own hand.

The night air was cool, when they stepped through to the garden, and Max paused just beyond the door to take a deep breath. The courtyard was just as he remembered - a poor imitation of romance, with what might be a nice water feature surrounded with dark red tents. The sounds of skin slapping and moans of pleasure - real or for show - punctuated the quiet conversations and music being played in various corners. He didn’t imagine the way color somehow simultaneously rose to Max’s cheeks, just as it all drained from her face.

She turned sharply on her heel, glass up to her mouth, and started toward the corner on the right, where some cushions were laid out around a woman dancing.

When Max sat, the woman turned, sultry eyes scanning them both, “So you’ve followed the call of your desires. All the way to the arms of Joana,” she held out her arms then brought them in to hug herself, “moi. Now that you’ve found me, I wonder if you have what it takes.”

Max didn’t respond right away, looking between the woman and Boone. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as she studied the woman before them - pretty, but skinny in a way that looked unhealthy, dressed in a thin pink nightgown that left little to the imagination.

Max lit a cigarette, held out the pack in offer to Joana, who smiled, her eyes uncertain, and took one, allowing the courier to light it for her, “Tell me about the clients you get here at Gomorrah.”

Boone saw the nervousness in every twitch, every eye movement, and he was sure Max was aware of it, too.

Joana eyed him a moment, “Military men, NCR ranchers, wandering travelers...they’re all the same without their clothes on. What they want, the Omertas provide.”

Max inhaled deeply, “Do you like it here?”

“I like that _you’re_ here,” Joana demurred, “doesn’t that make you happy?”

“What can you tell me about the Omertas?”

The woman recoiled, dropping the cigarette absently, “You’d best hold your tongue, friend. Or someone here will take it for good.”

Max nodded once, maybe deciding something, or maybe just convinced, then stood, hand up placatingly, as she stepped just a little closer to Joana, “Contracted pupils. Involuntary spasms,” she pushed the smoldering cigarette on the ground with her boot, “MedX kills quickly, Joana. I can help.”

The woman looked absolutely stricken. Boone was, too, if he were honest. It didn’t matter how many times he got to watch the courier work her magic, it never ceased to amaze him how quickly she could move past the barriers that the people of the wasteland put up. 

“I,” Joana licked her lips, looking around, “didn’t think it was that noticeable. Look,” she sighed, reaching down for the fallen cigarette and taking a drag, “we can’t talk here. If you really can help me, follow me to my room. You, too,” she nodded in his direction.

He followed the women dutifully up the stairs and into a good sized room at the end of the external hall. Once inside he leaned against the door, waiting until he was needed.

And it was there that Joana let her heart spill out of her mouth, showering Max with all of the ills that had befallen her at the hands of the Omertas. Carlitos, her boyfriend, in hiding; Cachino, some asshole who had done terrible things to her; the MedX addiction to try and kill the pain. And through it all, Max stood quietly, as she did, letting the woman get it all out.

When she was done, Max gripped her hand briefly, “If Carlitos is alive,I’ll find him.”

Joana wiped tears from her cheeks, “If he’s alive he’s long gone by now.”

“No way,” Boone pushed himself off the doorframe, and both women looked for a moment like they had forgotten he was there, “he loves you? Then he’s still around the Strip. Don’t leave behind something...someone you love.”

Max gave him a strange look for a moment, before Joana smiled wistfully, “You really think? But then...what will it cost?”

Max shook her head, “Nothing. I’ll find him for you.”

The woman looked skeptical but didn’t argue, “Thank you, then.”

And a few minutes after that, they were exiting the casino, Max taking a deep breath and shaking her head, “Probably caught like...fifty diseases being in there. Where do you think this Carlitos guy is?”

“My guess? Just hiding out at another casino.”

Max looked at the glowing lights of their options, heaving a sigh, “Can we do it tomorrow? Am I a bad person if I just...go clean up and get back to it then?”

Boone shook his head, studying her, trying to imagine her as anything other than what she was now, “You’re not a bad person. Not at all.”

They started across the street, and he couldn’t help asking, “But I’m curious. Why are you helping them? Think you’ll be able to get more info on the Omertas?”

Max shook her head slowly, “Nah. Don’t need to. Sound like assholes.”

“So then…?”

She looked at him, standing at the bottom of the stairs of the 38, the same strange look she had when he told Joana that Carlitos would still be around, “I’m just a sucker for a love story, I guess.”

He wanted to dissect that statement. He wanted it to hold some sort of meaning for him to pick up on. He wanted...a lot of things. But he only nodded slightly, words dying on his tongue. When he said nothing, her face turned sad, just for a moment, before she turned away and continued up the stairs.

“But the lovers can wait another day,” she said airily.

When they got back to the suite, she added nothing else. Just gave him a distracted wave without even turning around and disappeared into her room.

True to her word, she found Carlitos - in Vault 21, drinking his sorrow over his own lost love. It took a little convincing, and some back and forth messages, but they ultimately came up with a plan to sneak Joana and two others out of the place. 

“Trust me,” Max had said, Joana’s hands in hers, and the courier’s eyes so fiercely confident that he didn’t think anyone would ever expect her to fail.

Joana nodded shakily, “We’ll be downstairs in the main lobby.”

Max smiled tightly, “Great. And then be ready to walk out. Once we’re through the doors, fast walking, but not running. Don’t want to cause a scene.”

“Right.”

“You can do this.”

“Right.”

“You can.”

“Ok.”

Joana then ushered them out, and they stood outside the door. Max looked for a moment like she wanted to turn and go back in, so Boone grasped her shoulder gently to draw her attention to him, “Are you ready?”

She nodded, “I’m ready. Let’s wait out here for a bit, though, give them all time.”

Boone indulged for a few seconds, letting his hand slide down the back of her arm, feeling the curve of the muscle beneath her armor. He considered, in a flash of wild abandon, grasping her elbow gently, leading her down the stairs with his hand still firmly planted there. His fingers tightened for a moment, but ultimately he released her arm, and they walked down to the water below.

Two other young women hovered around the door, both wearing old dresses but vaguely familiar. Joana appeared at the top of the stairs, scarf wrapped around her hair, glasses on, and a similar dress to the others. The trio met at the door and took turns walking through. 

“Not too soon after,” Max warned, putting up a hand to keep him in position. 

He watched her breaths, calm and steady. He became entranced by them. He imagined her lungs underneath, her heart, steadily pumping to keep her alive, to keep her moving forward. He was grateful for it. On her fifteenth breath, she moved, “Now.”

There were no further words, no thoughts. He followed behind her, staring over her shoulder at everyone between them and the door, ready to stop anyone who came too close. On the main floor they saw the three women; Max didn’t approach them, just looked back at him and nodded toward the door, a signal to all of them to leave.

And just like that, they were off the Strip, heading down an alley in Freeside, where Carlitos was waiting for them. 

Unfortunately so was a group of Omertas. A foursome approached, the ringleader laughing, “Well...if it isn’t our little whore, Joana. And Carlitos! We had you and the whore clocked from the start, but I really thought Carlitos would be long gone by now.”

Max stepped close to the man, eyes narrowed, but he was looking at Carlitos, “You should’ve fled with the caps you stole. We Omertas don’t forget, and now it’s time-”

Before he could continue, Max smacked him, “Your boss is going to hear about how you spoiled the mission.”

The man’s face was dumb with shock, whether from the slap or her words wasn’t entirely clear, “What...what mission?”

She motioned angrily at Carlitos, “He’s trading what he stole for Joana. _I_ was hired to see that he does.”

“All the dough? Cachino said he had stolen thousands...but...why wasn’t I told?” The guy looked nervous at the prospect of that.

Max rolled her eyes, as if it were obvious, “It was secret because obviously he wouldn’t have made the trade with someone known in the Omertas.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. He knows what we do to traitors. But...that kind of profit is worth sparing his miserable life,” he crossed his arms, trying to take back control of the situation, “carry on, then. But listen - we never been here? You understand? The boss doesn’t need to hear about this.”

Max huffed a laugh, “Yeah, just get out of here.”

The small gang fell in with their leader, back to the Strip, and Carlitos and Joana just stood, staring at Max with a mix of fear and awe. 

Carlitos spoke first, “I thought...I don’t know how we pulled this off. I really thought we weren’t going to make it. Without you,” he trailed off, his eyes settling on Joana for a moment, “we would have been on the losing end. Thank you...so much. For what you did.”

Max shook her head, “My pleasure.”

“I pay my debts. How can I repay you, friend?”

Max held up her hands and backed away, “No need.” 

She was an inch away then, the heat of her back radiating against his chest. Joana approached, looping her arm in Carlitos’s, “You really are something else. Those Omertas looked like they were going to kill Carlitos on the spot.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen. Look - you should head out now. Get as far away from the Strip as possible before they realize I was lying through my teeth. They can’t touch me, but they could be back. Go.”

Joana looked like she wanted to say more, but Carlitos tugged her to his side, and the other two prostitutes looked ready to run out of their own skin, “Good luck, Max.”

And then they were heading out of Freeside, leaving Boone and Max alone on the quiet street. 

“That was…”

Boone froze in place when Max turned, so close to him, and lifted herself to her toes to kiss his cheek, “Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t get you any caps. Next job, I promise. I just…”

His cheek tingled where her lips had been, and he shook his head slowly. It was not a problem. His eyes held hers, his mouth unable to form the words. She just nodded.


	15. The Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max advises they should lay low for a while, so instead of going back to the Strip, they spent some time in Freeside. While there, they meet the King, and Max’s burdens grow heavier. They share a moment on the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are there so many amazing quests and side quests and characters in this game?? It makes it difficult to write anything that doesn’t become some sort of epic, Tolstoy length thing. I would have loved to do more with Jamestown; the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

They didn’t head back to the Strip right away. Max thought it would be best if they lay low for a while, made sure to not be seen back in town right after the escape of Joana and Carlitos, lest someone recognize them.

Thus Boone found himself sitting inside a tent of the Followers of the Apocalypse, watching Max laugh alongside a blonde haired man who had a drier sense of humor than parts of the Mojave. 

“I’m really very boring,” the doctor was saying, “you’d get better stories out of a Freeside junkie.”

“Of course I would, but I’m not talking to one now,” she cut right back, which earned a begrudging sigh from her companion. 

Boone tuned them out, taking in the compound. He had spent very little time in Freeside, much less with Max, but already she seemed to be well known. He recalled the three day period that they had been separated and wondered if maybe she had spent time here then. Or maybe before all of this had started, though that didn’t seem to be the case.

He was drawn back in when Max slapped the tops of her thighs and stood, “Arcade, if you change your mind, come by the 38.”

The man nodded vaguely, so he seemed unconvinced, “I will.”

“I need to go see Julie Farkas about some supplies,” she announced, though to whom he wasn’t sure. He stood regardless and dutifully followed her out.

“Arcade doesn’t like the NCR so much. I mean, he doesn’t have a problem with them really, but...well, anyway,” and then she was off to speak with a woman with a mohawk and lab coat.

His life with Max was the life of a shadow. He liked it. He didn’t have to speak to anyone; she could do that. If he put time into it, he might realize that there was a familiarity with the setup - he could follow her orders without having to think. But he didn’t think about that, and she wasn’t a superior, not really, just someone worth following.

Max’s business concluded, she motioned to the gate that would take them back to the street, and he followed. She took her time, wandering down the streets of Freeside and inspecting the buildings that weren’t completely blown out or shuttered. A few that were shuttered, too. 

It was strange, to see her picking through the rubble and remains of a bygone era without a purpose. Since he had met her, they had moved from one objective to the next. For a moment, just a moment, it felt peaceful. He let himself imagine that the Mojave wasn’t months - or maybe only weeks - away from all out war. He let himself think about what life could be; he wasn’t as guilty as he might have been when the lines blurred, and it was Carla but it was also Max in his mind’s eye.

He was deep enough in thought that the man running up to them went unnoticed for longer than normal, only coming into his awareness when he was less than a block away. 

“Hey,” the man, clad in jeans and a white shirt, called out, as he approached, “hey, are you that person that’s been helping people out around Freeside?”

Max turned to the young man and gave a sort of half-shrug,half-nod.

“The King wanted you to have this,” he held out a small bag that jingled with the sound of caps, “and said to keep up the good work.”

A half smile played on her features, “Thanks.”

Having fulfilled his business, the young man trotted off the way he had come. Boone turned his gaze on Max, waiting for an explanation. She was looking at the small bag of caps, hefting it slightly in her hands so it rattled a beat at them. Her own eyes slid to him, then towards the gate that her benefactor had just disappeared through.

When no further information was offered, he caved, “Who’s the King?”

“Sort of the unofficial power in Freeside,” she explained, “and I hadn’t even thought about it, but...we should pay him a visit. Never actually met him.”

Unsure what was going on in her head, he could only follow behind. He had some vague recollection of the Kings, but he had never really spent time in Freeside, and there were so many factions out in the wastes, it was hard to keep them all straight. As he and Max approached the flashing lights of their base, though, some of the pieces fell into place.

Leather jackets, slicked back hair. They didn’t seem as greasy as the Chairmen, but they definitely had a uniform. A few whistles greeted Max at the door, and at least one of them looked over at him, asking if he was NCR. He didn’t argue, but he said nothing.

“I’m here to see the King,” Max offered, walking into a sort of waiting room.

To their left a man wearing a black jacket pushed off the wall; his eyes trailed up and down the courier slowly, “What do we have here? Another petitioner for the King?”

Boone’s hand twitched, but Max seemed unperturbed as usual, “Yeah. I’m new in town, and I thought I’d come pay my respects.”

The man smirked, “Well I like you. Most people around here forget who runs this place. Head on through. He’s the bored one by the stage. Can’t fucking miss him.”

“Thanks…” Max trailed off, eyebrow raised.

“Pacer.”

“Pacer,” she repeated, walking through the now open door. 

Sure enough, in the next room was a stage with tables on the open floor, and opposite from them was a man in a white suit, looking blandly at another gang member clearly attempting to nail down the patented King speech pattern. At his side was a robodog that barked once at them on approach. He took an extra step to keep closer to the courier.

The man in white turned to them, his face brightening slightly, “Look, Rexie, someone new’s come to see us. Poor boy, hasn’t been feeling well lately. I’m the King. What can I do for you?”

Max’s smile was surprised and genuine, “Name’s Max. You, uh, sent me this,” she added, jingling the bag at her side.

The man’s own smile broadened further, “Oh, it’s you, then. My boys have told me that there have been a few matters that were settled, some places made safer, and all signs pointed to you. I wanted you to know that we noticed. And I appreciate it.”

Some color spread on Max’s cheeks. Boone had never seen her blush like that before. Something uncomfortable coiled in his chest, as his eyes moved between the King and the courier.

“Thank you, then.”

The King cleared his throat, looked down, “And, well, there is something I was wondering you could do for us.”

Max’s mouth remained in the smile, but Boone saw her eyes lose a little of their previous shine, “And what could a stranger like me do for the gang that runs Freeside?”

Her knowledge seemed to please him, and her own cooler, more professional demeanor was lost on him, too.

“You may have noticed the guards outside the gate,” he started, before his eyes landed on Boone and he chuckled, “or maybe not. You don’t really need one. Anyway. It’s good money. Maybe a little too good for some folks. I’ve been hearing that one of the guards, Orris, is making more than most.”

Max listened with her typical patience, as the King described his concerns - that perhaps Orris was playing an unfair advantage. At the end of his explanation, as she usually did, she agreed to help. Now knowing what her end game was, it made sense to him. If the Kings ran Freeside, and they clearly did, then an alliance would be beneficial.

No one acknowledged him further, and he was fine with that.

In less than an hour, they were outside again, Max mostly back to herself. 

“You ok?”

She looked startled and turned wary eyes on him, “Of course. Why?”

He nodded back toward the Improv School, as they made their way toward the main entrance gate. Max’s own gaze flicked back that way, confusion on her features.

“Your smile changed,” he tried again.

There was silence for a moment, then realization, “Oh. Yeah, I’m fine.”

She offered nothing further, and the same unpleasant heat that he felt when she and the King had been looking at each other crept into him. Was there something she wasn’t telling him, maybe? He didn’t know how to get it out of her, though. He didn’t have that same skill that she did.

He needn’t have worried, since before they went through the heavy gate, she shrugged, “Just thought maybe I wouldn’t have to do chores to prove myself again. Least he’s nice about it. And thanked me beforehand.”

That was all she provided before they ran into Orris, and their work began. And continued. After confirming the King’s suspicions, Max was dispatched to solve a dispute between the gang and the NCR troops providing aid in Freeside. And his dog was sick, and could she perhaps find a way to make him better? And and and.

Boone rarely had much to say - or knew what to say - so he followed along quietly, watching how her shoulders dipped just a little further with every passing day. He noticed her faltering smile. He saw her edges getting sharper, noticed the tightness in her voice that hadn’t been there before. He wanted to help, but he couldn’t think of what he could do. 

By the time they were returning to Freeside with Rex fully healed and the Nightkin of Jamestown closer to a cure for their own ailments, Boone could practically see the tendons in her neck crawling to get out.

Apparently so could the King because when she stalked into the room, he took one look at her before offering a drink and recommending she take a few days to relax.

It sounded to Boone an awful lot like a proposition, and if the surprise in Max’s face was any indication, it definitely was. He was more surprised at her not immediate refusal. She seemed to be considering the offer. Boone was filled with that same ugly feeling again, but he couldn’t bring himself to name it.

Max’s eyes flicked over to his briefly, then back to the King.

What was she looking for? Permission? Boone held no claim over her. He bit back the burning feeling and schooled his features into something that he hoped was impassive. A flicker of something like disappointment in her eyes before she offered the King a tight smile, “Maybe. But, uh, would you excuse me a moment?”

Boone made to follow her, but she gave a short shake of her head and indicated that she would just be a minute. So he found himself instead standing awkwardly by the table where the King sat, looking up at him with clear curiosity.

Boone grunted in question.

“Didn’t mean to step on your toes,” the King offered.

Boone grunted his denial.

The King chuckled, “Seems to me she’s on edge, needs to wind down. Also seems she has an idea of how she’d like to, but if you’re not interested, you should probably tell her that now. Before the Mojave blows up, anyway.”

“What?”

Maybe he was too polite to actually do it, but the look the King gave Boone was the equivalent of an exaggerated eye roll, “It’s clear that she wants you to make the first move. Probably doesn’t even know you think of her as anything other than a boss and doesn’t want to upset the balance.”

He let his gaze shift to the door Max had disappeared through.

“And if you don’t, well, she can’t wait around forever.”

That didn’t bode well, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just...couldn’t...she was Max, the courier, the savior of the Mojave, and he was just a washed up soldier who couldn’t protect his own damn wife. His fist clenched, and he walked out, not wanting to hear anymore. He headed straight for the door, needing fresh air, needing space.

He was deep in thought, enough that he didn’t even realize he had barreled into the person before they were sprawling out in front of him. He reached out without thinking, tugging on them and pulling them upright, only to recognize the face, just as she crashed into his chest. 

Max peered up at him, hands on his biceps to steady herself, his own hands on her shoulders. They stood for a moment, staring at each other.

“You alright?” he managed to choke out.

She nodded, looking at the door beyond, then the street; she broke from his gaze, looking down, “You were leaving again?”

He winced at her tone, shook his head, “Just needed some air.”

She let out a long, shaky breath and nodded, one hand releasing his arm to push an errant strand of hair out of her face. He became suddenly aware of her. There was the barest hint of a tremble in her right arm. There was a smudge on her cheek. Apparently on a roll of acting without thought, his hand moved off her shoulder, his thumb came into his field of vision, smoothing over her cheek, removing the dirt there. 

Max’s eyes fluttered closed.

Boone swallowed and stepped back slightly. This wasn’t his place. His place was at her back, watching over her.

She looked at him, gave a soft sigh, a nod, and then stepped away as well, motioning toward the door, “I think I’m going to get a drink.”


	16. The Boomers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King propositions Max, so Boone goes once again to drown his sorrows. Nothing happens between the courier and the King, and they head out to Nellis Air Base to meet with the Boomers. After a very close call, Max kisses Boone, and he spends their time with the tribe thinking of little else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked the Boomers. I sat on the fence for a looooong time about how this might go down. And ultimately decided that this was the way to go. I am also toying with the idea of tacking on an Epilogue to this, which would mean 28 chapters...we will see.

After their quiet moment on the street, or more likely, if he really thought about it, the way it ended, Max agreed with the King that she needed some time off. She was, as ever, courteous, and offered to pay for him to take a few days himself. He declined, suddenly hoping to reclaim the charge in the air that they shared before, but she was keeping a careful, controlled distance.

Better this way, he reminded himself, as he downed a whiskey. He stared into the dirty glass, but what he saw wasn’t in front of him.

What he saw were fingertips on skin, drawing patterns along a hipbone. He saw rich, dark hair spread over a pillow. He saw curves, saw lips. He squeezed his glass a little tighter.

When she had handed him the caps, he thought briefly about recapturing the moment itself. How easy it would have been for him to wrap his fingers around her wrist, pull her against him, wrap an arm around her - something. Anything. To touch her. To be with her. To help her in the way that she needed to be helped.

He gripped the glass harder, knuckles going white. 

Max had stayed at the Kings’ base. She had said he was welcome to stay, as well, that she was just going to make use of the extra room, take some time. She had said this, as the King stood behind her, speaking with one of his underlings. It was close enough to make him wonder, to make him sure.

She had given him his chance, a clear opening - those eyes. Those eyes had seen through him. And he hated how much they looked like they were gazing on a wounded, dangerous animal. He imagined for a moment the warmth of her against his chest, the feel of her under his hands.

He pushed his glass forward, watched it get filled, and pulled it back.

Too much was going on in his head. It was getting confused in there. He downed the whiskey, tapped for another. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to go away.

He wanted to go back in time. But he didn’t know how far he’d need to go anymore, to make things right. 

Another drink.

None of this was right. He was supposed to stay in the military. He was supposed to have done good things, made positive changes across the wasteland. He was supposed to be married; his wife was supposed to be alive, and he was supposed to have a baby - a toddler, now, almost. 

And instead he was sitting at the Atomic Wrangler, staring into his once more empty glass.

He could hear Max in his head - you have another chance. Take it. 

He cleared his throat, tapped the bar, downed his next drink. The world was starting to feel fuzzy. All of it was seeping into the background, far away. There was a hand on his shoulder.

“Nnng,” he shook his head.

He didn’t want another night like the one he’d had the last time he’d run away from Max. He didn’t want to wake up and...he didn’t want…

“Boone,” her voice was soft.

His surprise had him spinning around so quickly, his balance shifted. He managed to catch his weight, barely, and the hands on his chest helped. 

“Come on, Boone,” the voice repeated, “I think you’ve had enough downtime.”

“Max?”

His words didn’t sound right, and she gave him a sort of amused chuckle, then looked over his shoulder, “Thanks, Francine.”

Max slipped under his arm, taking on some of his weight. He was careful not to lean too much against her, not wanting to cause any harm. She mostly was steering them. He groaned, at least slightly, to see where they were headed.

He didn’t exactly intend to dig in his heels, but it was enough to stop her.

She went somewhat stiff, “Boone, come on, please.”

She sounded tired. She was supposed to be relaxing.

“Nah. You go back. I’ll stay.”

He was pitching forward for a moment before a fist in his shirt had him tugged back up. He had never realized how strong Max was.

“Come on,” she grunted, “we have to leave tomorrow, and I need you in tip-top shape.”

That sobered him somewhat, “Tomorrow?”

“Yes, Boone,” she continued patiently, removing her hand slowly, to make sure he could stand on his own, “we’re heading to Boomer territory.”

He had a lot of questions. He voiced none of them, just nodded.

She nodded back, then gestured, “So can I help you to bed?”

He started toward the Kings’ base, looking over at her, “I thought...maybe…”

Max said nothing. A whisper went through him - maybe she had spent some time with the King, after all. But then she shrugged off his comment, and they were passing through the doors. The interior was quiet, more so than usual, and Max led them inexorably through the hallways beyond the lobby to a room with four beds lining the walls.

She gestured at one blindly, as she herself damn near fell bodily across one of the others. 

Boone sat on the edge of the one she had motioned toward, staring over at her. She was clearly exhausted. The same images as before came to him, then, his treacherous mind supplying details of what she may have done between their conversation the previous day and when she came to collect him.

“Did you and the King get up to anything interesting?” his words came out somewhat slurred. And angry.

Max sat up, slowly, as if her own weight was too much, “Boone. Just ask what it is you want to know.”

The whiskey didn’t care if he felt guilty for asking, didn’t care if he had no right to ask, “Did you fuck?”

Max stared at him a moment, perhaps not quite sure if he had said it - to be fair, he wasn’t even sure he had said it. She schooled her features into something calm, “No.”

At his shocked silence, she continued, “No, we didn’t fuck. I had a drink. I flipped through a magazine, got bored, and that led to a discussion about my plans. The King approves, by the way, and they’ll back me. And then I decided to go see the Boomers. Anything else you want to know? Anything I can do?”

I want to kiss you, he thought. But I don’t know if I’m supposed to.

He shook his head, “I...sorry. I…”

“You’re drunk. Get some sleep. I leave in the morning. Hopefully with a First Recon guy on my six,” she finished with a softer tone before turning away from him on the bed.

They left early the next morning, and Boone kept his headache and intermittent nausea to himself. They were well on their way before he was feeling better, and as if attuned to that, that was when Max chose to speak.

“I know you were drunk last night, Boone, but you can’t...do that.”

He felt heat in his cheeks, remembering his behavior, “I know.”

“And for a lot of reasons. One, it’s no one’s business. Two, it’s not your business because you haven’t made it your business,” she said the second part quickly, as if she didn’t want him to read into it.

A steadying breath, then, “And three, it’s not fair. You were kind of an asshole, honestly, and I didn’t deserve that.”

He hesitated for a moment, but maybe some of the whiskey was still working because he reached out to his side, fingers on the back of her neck to stop her, tug her toward him. When she bumped against him, he slipped his arm around her completely, murmuring into her hair, “I know. I’m sorry. I just...I’m not...I can’t…”

“Complete a sentence?” she offered, and he could feel the tug of her lips.

“Max,” he whispered, his tone serious.

She nodded, stepped away to look at him, “I know. I understand. I just need to know…”

Max stepped away again, looked off to the side with a heavy sigh before returning her gaze to him, “I need to know if I should have taken the King up on his offer. If this is it, if it’s all you can do, I understand. And it’s ok, truly. But you have to tell me.”

He swallowed, woefully unprepared for this conversation, “Now?”

Something like pain flitted across her features, but she took a deep breath, “No. Not now.” She grinned, pulling away even further before slapping his shoulder, “But preferably before one of us dies, right?”

He gave a half-hearted chuckle, nodded his thanks, and they continued. Their journey this time around wouldn’t be very long, and he was ridiculously grateful for that. Still the sun was starting to set when they approached the sign that marked Boomer territory. Just beyond it, a man was silhouetted against the sky, smoking a cigarette and watching their approach.

“Woah there,” he said, stepping closer, as they came near, “better slow down, or you’ll get blown up like all the other idiots who tried to salvage in Boomer territory.”

Max had stopped, wrapped her fingers in the straps of her pack, “Don’t suppose you know a way through?”

The man smirked, “There is way, and I’ll tell you...for a wager. I’ll give you the secret for 300 caps. And if you make it back, I’ll double it.”

Boone didn’t like the tone of his voice, but Max just laughed, reaching into her money bag and counting them out, “You’ve got a deal.”

The man smirked, handing her a slip of paper, “It’s all here. But it’s all about the timing, as you move from building to building. I’ll be here watching, so I’ll know if you make it to the gate or not. If you do, I’ll have 600 caps here waiting for you.”

“Alright,” she called, unfolding the paper and adjusting her glasses, as she continued. 

He wasn’t super confident about this. They stood on a hill overlooking a crater-pocked town, riddled with skeletons and corpses that he thought, for a moment, anyway, were still smoking. Max was insane if she thought they were going through there. He was still staring out at the expanse of artillery demolished area when she started down the hill, skirting to the left.

She was about halfway down when the artillery started, and Boone felt his heart actually drop into his stomach.

Max was still hugging the hillside to the left, he noticed, sprinting toward a building. He started after her, hearing the whizzing sound of a projectile. She wasn’t going to make it. There was no way. He had the downward momentum on his side, so he pushed himself, letting gravity tug him down, down, down. 

The whistling was getting louder. Boone was sure his legs had never moved that fast. He was going to kill that guy on the hill. He judged five seconds. 

Four. She was close, but not close enough.

Three. He was almost to her.

Two. He reached out his arms and shoved, hard.

One. Max went flying behind the building, and he fell behind.

Boone felt the impact of the artillery in his bones. The heat crept up his back, singeing his hair. He crawled further behind the building. Max was on her back just beyond the edge of the wall, and she reached out, tugging on him to bring him closer to her and further from the blast.

For a while the ringing continued. He concentrated on breathing, on feeling - and moving - each of his limbs.

He was wiggling his toes when it happened. 

Max’s eyes were wide, staring behind him, where the strike had landed. He had just confirmed his feet were still attached when she came closer. She had slid forward, not quite under him, but close, leaned forward, hand sliding to his cheek, and before he had confirmed all of the toes were also there, her lips were on his.

It took his mind a second or two to catch up. She was kissing him. And then he was kissing back.

He realized, with something close to horror, that he didn’t want her to stop kissing him. Oh, god, but he needed to stop kissing her. He felt like he had lost control of his faculties, his hands framing her face, his lips moving over hers again and again. A groan left him, completely unintentional, something close to a needy whimper, as his tongue dipped between her lips and was met with her own. His eyes closed, and he lost himself in the feel of her lips pressed against his. 

Another explosion landed nearby, shaking them loose from one another. Max fixed him with a look that was equal parts heated, shocked, pained, and annoyed. 

“We should keep moving,” they said nearly in unison.

A nervous, shaky laugh left her, as her hand smoothed over her face, “Let’s, um, if we count…”

He started to stand, helping her up, as well, finely tuned to each point of contact between them. Everything inside him was melting at that contact. 

The rest of the journey went by in a blur of Max shouting out a count, pulling him along in a sprint across open areas to the next building, and a near constant drumming of artillery. 

By the time they were at the gate, Boone was seized with disbelief. Had it actually happened? Had they really kissed? He just kept flicking his eyes to her, practically staring at her lips. He had felt them, tasted them. He knew what she sounded like when he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

“Hold it right there,” a man behind the gate barked at them, “don’t you move!”

He leaned to look back the way they had come, “How did you survive that bombardment?”

Max pointed behind her, waving with an air of boredom, “Run. Hide. Run. Just timing, really.”

“But I...I had you zeroed in the whole time,” he whined, “no one’s that fast. Move a muscle now, and I’ll blow you to pieces,” he warned, hefting the heavy weapon in his hands.

Max leaned her head back with a groan, though Boone only saw the line of her throat, “Can we move this along? We’re not here to cause trouble.”

Another voice came from behind the gate, “I’ll take it from here. I’m Raquel, Master-at-Arms for the Nellis homeland. Mother Pearl, our Eldest, wishes to speak with you.”

“Mother...Pearl?”

“She said this day would come. And that any savage that reached our gates should be brought to her. Follow close. And mind your behavior.”

The gate rolled open, and the twitchy young man with the heavy gun stepped to the side, letting them pass. Max fell in step behind the master-at-arms, Boone at her shoulder. He noticed that she kept looking back at him, her face twisted in something that looked like guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered over her shoulder, “I told you you didn’t have to answer. I meant to give you space or time or...and instead I just...attacked you. I didn’t mean to. I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He didn’t want to have this conversation with her while walking into unknown territory, surrounded by potential hostiles, while he was still trying to wrap his head around what had happened, his feelings about everything. Everything. And he was shit with words, anyway. He gripped her shoulder, jostled it slightly and bumped it with his own. His message must have been clear enough because she gave him a small smile.

For better or worse, he didn’t get another chance to talk about it with her on base. They were shuffled off to meet with Mother Pearl, a woman who at least seemed more accommodating than the others in the tribe, and then, as was Max’s way, they were fixing problems.

They played exterminator and rid the base of some ants. They donated some missiles - “what am I going to do with these anyway?” Max had joked - and some scrap metal, which she was much more reticent to part with.

And there was another pair of star-crossed lovers. Matchmaker of the Mojave, he had jokingly said to her, and she had just smiled shyly.

Ultimately, as she had with everyone else, she won them over. Which was how they came to be in the middle of the large workshop, hearing all about the Lady in the water.

“You’ll attach these inflatable ballast to the plane and float it on up,” Loyal was saying, rifling through a box and pulling out what must be the ballasts.

Max stared at him, “A bomber…”

“Lake Mead,” Boone grumbled, hoping she realized it meant going to Bitter Springs once more.

“And here’s the detonator. You can use it once you’re on shore, and then let buoyancy do the rest.”

Max pinched the bridge of her nose with the hand not holding the detonator, “Loyal, how do you propose I get to the bottom of the lake?”

“Hold your breath?”

Max snorted, but Boone glared. He didn’t find the thought all that amusing.

“Jack was working on a rebreather once upon a time. He’d probably lend it.”

“He might need it,” Max muttered, nodding in the direction of the young man, who was almost always found locking lips with his new paramour. Loyal chuckled and shugged.

“Aaaaaargh. Alright,” Max groaned, turning and looking up at him.

They hadn’t spoken about what happened, but every time she did this, standing so close and tilting her head back, he wanted to slide his fingers over her skin, lean down, and take her bottom lip between his. He stared at her lips, and she spoke.

“I’m going to see about that rebreather. Let’s be ready to head out in a couple of hours. You, um, you going to be ok, going back there?”

He nodded.

“Ok.”

True to her word, they were back on the road not long after, and the topic of their kiss still hadn’t come up again.


	17. Lady in the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Boone return to the 38, still not having discussed what happened in any depth. Arcade agrees to tag along to see the bomber pulled from the lake, and Max apologizes. He kisses her; things get heated, but a found injury keeps it from going any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chugging along. I had to remind myself where exactly this is in the story. I came THIS CLOSE to commenting on something that happens later...silliness.

Max had set a fast pace, but when they reached the Strip, she relented and advised she’d like to stop by the 38, most likely because of the scuffles along the road on the return journey. 

She was perhaps more surprised than he was to find Arcade there, cards laid out on the table in a round of solitaire, while he spoke to Rex, “Arcade? What are you doing here?”

The doctor looked up, shrugged, “I thought...maybe I could do more for the Mojave if I tagged along.”

Max’s face split into a bright smile, “Yeah, well, I’d be happy to have you. We’re heading out to Lake Mead to float a bomber out of the water.”

Arcade let out a laugh that died down slowly, as he studied their faces, “You’re...serious?”

Max was still smiling, “Absolutely.”

“How?”

“Buoyancy,” she echoed Loyal from their own original conversation, no longer herself baffled by the entire idea.

“Well I would love to see that,” Arcade added, “when do we leave?”

Boone noticed the fleeting look she sent his way before she nodded definitively, “Tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ll get packed, then,” he ducked around them and headed into the shared bunk room. Silence followed him, except for the sounds of Max fiddling in the kitchen. Not looking at him.

“I’m fine, Max,” he muttered, shuffling closer.

She nodded but still said nothing. His eyes narrowed, as he concentrated, trying to pick apart her behavior, her body language. It was obvious enough that her back was turned so she would not have to look at him. There was something she didn’t want him to see - was she going to leave him behind? Not an option. Pity, maybe, but that wasn’t her style. This wasn’t her style. She wasn’t a shy person, just quiet. Was it him? Was he reading into it too much? That damn kiss.

She sighed, “Well, we’re here.”

He stepped closer, just to hear what she was saying, “Yeah.”

He was close enough now, he could see her knuckles turning white, as she gripped a still unopened can. With some effort, he quieted the voice in his head that never stopped - the one that ran commentary on everything, as he remained silent in its wake - and reached out, gently prying her fingers from their vicehold on the metal, “Hey.”

Max startled in front of him, running back into his chest, her hand still in his. He released it, so she could spin around to face him.

“What’s going on?” he tried to keep his voice even, calm. Something was bothering her.

“We haven’t talked about it yet. And it’s like this...crazy thing. Because normally I wouldn’t care. I mean, I don’t think I would. Because I don’t remember much of before, but I generally have a real casual attitude about all this. But you’re...grieving, and I feel like a real shit friend.”

Maybe it was the wrong response, but he laughed, gripping her shoulders and shaking his head. She responded with a sort of unsure, nervous smile.

“I’m not mad,” he assured her, “not upset.”

Some tension melted from her shoulders under his fingers.

He let himself drink in the sight of her, dusty and road-weary from their weeks-long adventures with the Boomers. He hadn’t thought about Bitter Springs for days before hearing about the bomber, and he hadn’t even realized it. He had thought about Carla, but that wound was fresher, and something in him knew that he would always think about her. How could he not? Nevertheless, the searing pain of it all had lessened.

In the months that he had followed Max, he had seen more of the worst in people, but he had also seen the best. In others. In himself. Maybe he wasn’t in love with her, but they were friends, he could say with certainty. Maybe that was all he needed.

She nodded, looking up at him with a grin.

Maybe he could use just a little something more, too, he thought, scanning the line of her neck.

He moved first this time, watching transfixed, as his palm slid over the ball of her shoulder, up the curve that he had been studying, and into her hair. He leaned down, licking his lips, staring at hers. He saw her chest rise with her sharp intake just before he grazed her cheek, her jaw, her mouth. _Shit_.

The dam broke. Max was not exceptionally tall, but on her toes, she was able to throw her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, capturing his lips with her own. Something of the spark between them that night in the artillery field was reignited, as she pressed hard against him, and he pressed back, feeling her mold against his chest.

His heart stuttered for a moment; he wrapped his hand around her ribs, across her back, pulling her away from the counter and further into him, as he stepped back. The suite of the 38 melted into the background, unimportant except as shelter from the world outside and a sort of maze to navigate to get her alone in a place where they could do all of the things they wanted to do.

His shoulder jammed against the doorframe, as he backed up, jolting them apart for a moment. Max took that opportunity to grab his hand and pull, “C’mon.”

She led them across the hall to her bedroom, kicking the door closed behind her before tugging him back to her and recapturing his lips. She tasted like Nuka Cola and smoke. More importantly, kissing her somehow stole his breath and breathed into him all at once.

They stumbled toward the bed. Boone made a conscious effort to not think about it. He didn’t think about what it might mean, didn’t dwell on the what or why. He let his hands and lips think for him, provide all of the input he needed.

He focused on the subtle dip of Max’s waist, not so pronounced, given her battle-hardened body. He caught the shifts in her muscles, felt them twitch under his fingers. Her lips were softer now than they had been when they started, smoothing out from their combined efforts. 

He was startled for a moment by her fingers grazing over his back, cool and rough, sliding under his shirt. He pulled away enough to allow her to yank it off of him, inhaling sharply at the touch of her hand against his bare chest, making a line down the jumping muscles in his stomach.

He reached out to similarly divest her of her own shirt but stopped when she let out a hiss. Brought back to reality by the sound, he only then noticed the dark stain that had spread on her side. No longer feeling the buzzy light-headedness of want, he focused on carefully peeling the fabric away from her skin, revealing an angry gash beneath.

“Max,” he exhaled, “why didn’t you…”

Her face was still flushed, but she at least had the decency to blush further, “I wasn’t exactly thinking about it when you landed that kiss on me. Distracted, I guess.”

He would find it charming, if her wound wasn’t still seeping slowly. He snatched his own shirt back from her and slipped it over his head, willing his heartbeat to calm itself, “Take it off. Let’s get it looked at.”

“Boone-“

“I’ll get Arcade. He’ll be better at this, I think.”

“ _Boone_.”

He took a deep breath and looked back at her, meeting her gaze. He felt foolish, having missed that. She didn’t seem to be in a lot of pain, and there was something dancing in her eyes.

“I’m far more devastated by not getting to finish what we started here. Damn near knocked me out with that kiss.”

He felt his own cheeks getting warmer and ducked his eyes down with a slight grin. He nodded toward the door and beat a swift retreat.

“Arcade!” He picked up his pace, entering the shared sleeping space, “Max is injured and didn’t think to mention it. We ran out of stims. Think you could patch her up?”

The doctor had been reading a book, stretched out on a bed. At Boone’s request, he sat up, tossed the book to the side and nodded, “Where is she?”

“In her room.”

The doctor asked nothing further and made his way out. Boone stared at the wall, drowning in his thoughts and the lingering sensations of Max. He concentrated on reassigning the memory, carefully putting it in a corner of his mind where he could hold it but still get the job of protecting her done. She had been so...pliant, so responsive. She had pressed into him, and it had warmed him, flames licking from the inside out. _Shit_.

Exhaustion hit him swiftly after that, and he dropped onto one of the free beds with a sigh. 

What felt like moments later, he was waking again. Arcade stirred, as well, and Boone busied himself packing for the return trip to Bitter Springs. For a place that he had avoided even thinking about for the past few years, he had spent a surprising amount of time there lately. Not all of it bad.

Max was in business mode when he ventured out of the room, and he fell in step with her, only asking after her wound and offering to go get some medical supplies for their journey before they left. They agreed to stop at the old Mormon fort on the way out of town, and in a matter of hours, Max, Arcade, and Boone were on their way.

The trio met little resistance on the way, and their previous trek proved useful, since they knew which areas to avoid this time around. 

Arcade, despite his comments to the contrary, was fascinating to travel with. He brought out a different side of the courier, challenging her intelligence in ways that Boone admittedly never could. She wasn’t happier, necessarily, but she was somehow more defined, like her light flared for a moment, throwing all of her into sharp relief. 

Their one night of camping on the road became a battle of wits, as his two companions took turns describing the most unrealistically complicated plots to get the entire Mojave to work together.

Arcade kept Boone himself at arm’s length, but it was clear enough that it was more to do with his NCR allegiance than anything else. By the time they had reached Lake Mead, though, the ice had thawed considerably, and they had a good rapport going.

Once at the lake, Max asked Arcade to go check in with the medical facilities, while she prepared, “I know you’re a researcher, but please?”

The doctor had grudgingly agreed and promised to be back within a half hour, maximum. When he was gone, Max nodded and started to unpack, “I just figured he wouldn’t want to be around while I changed. And I need someone to help with this damn radiation suit.”

“Sure,” he managed to get out without sounding too much like an over eager teenager. He ignored Max’s knowing grin.

To be fair, it did take both of them to get her into the suit. 

She carefully removed her armor, and Boone forced himself to focus on stacking it neatly to the side of the small shack that sat to the left of the dock. Her leather pants and t-shirt he folded and replaced in her bag, only allowing himself a brief glimpse of her, as she started tugging the suit on. Her legs and arms securely in place, she turned away, her signal that he was up.

Boone swallowed his arousal and stepped closer. He wanted so badly to draw his finger down the length of her spine, and he was shocked to realize that he was doing just that, watching the shiver that followed in its wake. He didn’t imagine the breathy whimper that she made when he did it either. Recovering his focus, he grabbed the zipper and slowly drew it up her back.

“All set.”

“Rebreather,” she asked.

He returned to her pack and retrieved it, handing it to her in exchange for her glasses. She still wore the extra First Recon beret he had given her, but it would do her no good in the water. She removed it, handing it to him in exchange before fitting the new device over her face.

True to his word, Arcade returned after a very short time, explaining that there was very little for him to do at the camp. Surely he noticed that Max had changed, but he said nothing.

“Ok,” the courier breathed, stepping down toward the water and popping a Rad-X into her mouth, “I’m going in.”

Boone very nearly stopped her, made her turn around and send him instead. But he wouldn’t know what to do with the devices that she had dragged down to the waterside with her, anyway. She was more than capable, he knew, and he concentrated on those thoughts.

Arcade, in the meantime, kept a running commentary of how he thought the knowledge that the Boomers had might be beneficial to the entire wasteland. 

Five minutes went by. Ten. 

“How deep you think it is?”

“Records before the war show a deepest level of approximately 162 meters.”

Boone grunted, “Shit.”

“I imagine it’s gone down considerably since then, however.”

“Wonder what it looks like down there.”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Arcade assured him.

In total, it was a half hour before she resurfaced, thumb held up momentarily before she swam the rest of the way to the shore. Boone helped haul her out onto the dock, tugging the rebreather away from her face, so she could get some fresh air. Her chest was heaving, as she caught her breath, “That’s a workout. Remind me not to do that again.”

Aracade held out the remote control that Loyal had provided them with, “It’s been beeping.”

Max nodded distractedly, “Press it.”

There was a glint in the man’s eyes, as he pressed the button.

For a moment nothing happened. Then a rumble came from deep below, like explosions going off far beneath them. The water’s surface shifted, rippling, causing waves to spread toward them. Boone tugged Max further away from the edge of it. Bubbles came to the surface, further disrupting the calm.

The nose of the bomber was the first thing to appear, bursting from the water and dropping back down to disappear for a moment and bob back to the top. Behind him came a peal of laughter, “It worked! Amazing.”

He relegated himself to only one small celebration, squeezing Max’s shoulder gently and looking down to meet her eyes.

“Well,” she sighed, looking out at the now exposed plane, “guess we’ll head back and let them know the Lady has risen.”


	18. The Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone ruminates on the past month, during which he and Max returned to the Boomers to let them know about the Lady, ran some small jobs here and there, and ultimately decided to go find the Brotherhood of Steel, at Yes Man’s urging. When they arrive, Boone sees red when they make the courier strip, and he goes red when he sees her...oh, and then they put an explosive collar on her, which isn’t ideal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is a SHORT chapter. Literally it’s only here because I thought the first scene with the Brotherhood would be literal torture for a thirsty Boone.
> 
> Also, the first time I played this game, I didn’t realize how close I was to finishing after turning in the Boomer quests, and I had SO MANY SIDE QUESTS still open. I started to panic, and so I did almost none of the Brotherhood stuff. More than what’s here, but not by much.

When Max returned with the news that the bomber had emerged from the lake, the Boomers threw a party in her honor. It lasted for two days, and he had never seen her so alive, except maybe in battle. But time in the Mojave didn’t stop, no matter how good it was to see her smile, to see her dance, to see her let her hair down - literally and figuratively. On day four, they were back on the road. 

They stopped at the Strip to drop off Arcade, and Max paid a visit to the embassy, agreeing to take a second look at the Omertas. At his own obvious displeasure, she had given him some time to relax and took on the investigation herself.

He didn’t particularly like it, but it was clear that no one recognized her from the escape of the prostitutes - it had been long enough ago, and in a place rife with drugs and alcohol, memories didn’t last all that long. While she spent a week investigating, he got their gear back in shape, spent some time with Arcade, learning more field medicine, and did some reading.

Max came back before he got too bored, and they trekked back down to Goodsprings for her regular checkup. 

Almost a month after their heated kiss, they found themselves skirting around the Powder Ganger’s turf to approach the most likely location of the Brotherhood of Steel, based on Yes Man’s information. The valley was wind-torn, and even with his glasses, it was hard to keep the shapes from blurring.

“Stick close,” she shouted above the whistling gusts, and he could only step closer in answer.

The first bunker door they came to opened onto a stairway that led down. Free from the constant maelstrom, Max leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, flashing him a tired smile.

He inspected his weapon, frowning to see sand caked into parts of it. He’d have to clean it again, and he was concerned about it jamming on him in a crunch. Nothing to do for it now, though.

He followed Max down the narrow staircase and across an open room that led to a door, through that door, and to another door. Before they could reach it, it opened, and a small squad of troops marched out, all but one decked in power armor.

“How the hell did you get in here?” The unarmored man stepped around those in the suits, his face serious, “Normally I would have already shot you, but I’m under orders to bring you to the Elder. Will you come peacefully?”

Max’s lip twitched up, along with her eyebrow, and she turned to him, “What is it about me that elderly people send gun-toting messengers to collect me?”

Boone didn’t laugh; he was too busy calculating how many shots he could get off before they got him. He did look at her, though, incredulous as ever at her blasé attitude.

She shrugged, sighed, “I’ll speak to your Elder. Lead the way.”

The man in front of them looked the two of them over, then nodded some sort of signal to one of his soldiers, “You’ll need to remove all of your gear.”

Boone stepped back, looking to Max for her reaction. She stood still for a moment, maybe not even breathing, then, “Fine. Take our guns.”

“All of your gear. Armor, too.”

Boone snapped at that, “What? No. Absolutely not.”

Weapons were raised and trained on them. Max turned to him, shaking her head gently. She was far too calm about this. But she was also right - the two of them against an entire squad? And who knew what was waiting beyond that door.

“Your gear will be stored safely in the locker out here; you can retrieve it when you’re done.”

Max nodded but said nothing. 

So she wasn’t any more pleased about it than he was. He knew her silences, now, knew how a relaxed quiet from her was like the softness of a dark night and how her angry silence felt like creeping through a cave with something crawling just around the corner.

His own searing anger started to give way, though, as she removed the armor. He was reminded of the last time he had seen the skin underneath, the brief moment before he found the wound on her abdomen - now a white scar - that he thought he would be seeing more. Her skin was darker than his, somewhere between olive and umber, smooth enough save for the scars. Without the armor, she looked thinner, muscled, but lean in a way that made it clear she spent a lot of time moving and not as much eating. He frowned at that; he’d need to make sure she ate more.

They were allowed to keep their undergarments, but Boone was distracted, watching the way the muscles of her legs shifted, as she followed the man down the stairs and further into the bunker. Really he should have been paying more attention to where they were headed, but he couldn’t stop staring at the courier. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to take away the unpleasantness of this moment, take her somewhere private, and show her all the ways that he thought about her.

The Elder, Elder McNamara, they learned, gave them a history lesson, but Boone tuned it out in favor of watching the tiny bumps appear on Max’s shoulder from the colder temperatures this far below. McNamara lectured on the dangers of letting outsiders into the fold, or letting his own troops go out, but Boone stared at the small dip in Max’s back, how her spine disappeared underneath black cloth.

Still Boone heard the comment about the collar, was painfully aware of the threat the Elder made against Max, and he noticed the way she stepped closer to him, whether in defense or to keep him from tearing after the old man, he wasn’t sure. Her proximity was enough to give him pause; he needed to do something about this before it became so much a distraction that something bad happened.

A knight in power armor approached and clapped the explosive collar on Max. Another soldier proceeded to fit him with one, and he bit back a snarl.

The pair were led back up to the empty space where the patrol had first come across them, and the door was shut and locked behind them.

Max gave a slow whistle before kneeling down to open the locker where their things had been stashed. Other than the one sound, she said nothing, silently handing him his own items back and slowly dressing herself and strapping on her armor once more.

“Max-“

“I know you didn’t like that. I’m sorry. If I had known what they would do.”

He grunted, reached down, grabbed her arm, and tugged her to her feet, “I don’t like the way they treated you. That’s all.”

He didn’t imagine the faint blush that crept up her features. He could also now imagine, with striking clarity, what that blush would look like beneath her armor. But his eyes were drawn back to that damn collar and he growled, “This is bullshit.”

She nodded, “Let’s just get this over with, and then we can leave.”

“Okay,” he muttered, falling in step with her.

When they left the bunker, the sandstorm was no longer raging, and they could see the expanse of the valley, surrounded on all sides by the fence. He counted at least two other hills that were likely to be bunkers. Max must have seen them, too, because she turned to their left and started toward one of them.

“Should we test it?” She called over her shoulder, striking a match to light a cigarette.

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head; Max just laughed.

Sure enough, inside the bunker they found evidence of a ranger making camp, just as the Elder had explained. They found a journal and a radio, some basic supplies. The ranger had already had a few run-ins with the Powder Gangers - a word that Max said with a scowl - but was looking to expand the use of the valley. He was most likely doing his rounds, so they had some time to come up with a plan.

The ranger returned with the arrival of dusk, gun drawn and aimed in a matter of seconds.

“Who are you?”

Max’s mouth opened, gaped for a moment, then stretched into a smile, “Name’s Max. This is Boone. We, uh, you know…”

She turned slightly, looking at him, then back to the ranger, “We saw a Powder Ganger group in the area and I am, uh, not so popular with them. So we ducked in here and, well, here you are.”

“Powder Gangers?”

“Turns out,” she continued, “they actually have been moving into these bunkers. Didn’t think that through when I came down here.”

She let out a nervous laugh, flicking her eyes to the door.

The ranger narrowed his eyes for a moment, looking between them, “Powder Gangers, huh? I was here trying to track them, but if they’re starting to make camps down here, probably saved my skin.”

Max snapped and pointed, “Sure thing. Myself, I am ready to get the hell outta dodge, if you know what I mean.”

Boone just blinked at the exchange. Was there some sort of joke that he wasn’t in on here? How was Max so good at this? The ranger, a complete stranger, was just trusting every word coming out of her mouth. Before they had reached the door, he was packing his things, inspecting the broken radio.

When they returned to the Brotherhood bunker, they were greeted by the Elder directly beyond the door. This time they weren’t asked to remove their gear, either, and the Elder explained that the collars had been transmitting to them the entire time. Boone noticed the twitch in Max’s hand, the way it clenched, then released.

“Since you completed your task, I will allow you to come and go from the bunker freely. So let’s get that collar off you.”

The collars were released.

“Now that we have that unpleasantness out of the way, there is a matter I would like to discuss with you. Stop by the command room when you can.”

He began to turn, then stopped, “Oh, and bear in mind, if you end up betraying us, we will know it - and there will be no mercy.”

Max said nothing. The Elder turned and disappeared through he door to the bunker. Two of the soldiers retired to either side of the door. She spun on her heel, motioning for Boone to follow, and they made their way back out into the setting sun.


	19. Cottonwood Cove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the business with the Brotherhood concludes, Max makes a disturbing announcement. She informs Boone that there is a bunker underneath the Legion camp that she needs to access to make her bid on the Strip. She offers to take someone else, and he’s not sure which is worse...going or her leaving him behind to go herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vulpes Inculta story in this chapter did actually occur in my first play through. A warning, not so much about this chapter, but the next - it get angsty. For a minute. But it gets better.

It was only a few days’ travel back to the 38, and even without his keener awareness of her in recent days, it would be clear that something was on Max’s mind. Boone assumed it had something to do with the forced near-nakedness they had shared at the hands of the Brotherhood. She had made her displeasure well known by the time they had left the valley; he thought she was over it, but she made, at best, skittish eye contact, mostly opting to keep their conversations short.

It wasn’t until they arrived back at the Strip, cleansed themselves of the dirt of the road, and were sitting at the table, along with Arcade and the recently arrived Cassidy, that the reason for her strange behavior became clear.

“Yes Man and I have been discussing the plan, and,” her eyes flicked over to Boone, “he says that there’s a bunker that I should go check out. He says it could really help in driving out the Legion.”

At that, everyone shifted, sitting a little straighter. Boone felt a hot rush of glee fill him. He would do anything - anything - to take them down, burn the entire tribe to tinder.

“It’s...underground. Under Caesar’s camp.”

The shifting stopped, the nervous energy around them all freezing into a solid mass of unease. Max looked at each of them in turn, ducking her gaze when it met his. Every one of them knew that this would be the most dangerous task she’d taken on yet. 

There was a time, months ago, that Vulpes Inculta himself had appeared on the Strip and offered Max asylum. They could make a deal, he explained, and as a show of good faith, he had offered her a coin that would guarantee her safe passage. She had accepted it, turned the tarnished metal in her hands thoughtfully. And before Boone could voice his indignation that she would consider the offer, before Vulpes had taken more than five steps, she had drawn the pistol she had taken from Benny, cocked it, and shot the man in the head.

Just like that, one of Caesar’s most feared Frumentarii was gone, sprawled on the street like a drunken merrymaker who had had one too many.

It was safe to assume that that had rendered her safe passage null and void. She was planning to walk right into the viper’s nest. For something that a milquetoast robot had said _could_ exist.

“Max,” Arcade started, his tone that of one he might take with a child trying to put their hand in a fire, “do you think that’s the best idea?”

Her eyes were steel, “Yes. I don’t know exactly what’s down there, but I have a hunch. If I’m right, it will ensure freedom for the Mojave.”

She next spoke to everyone, but her eyes held Boone’s, “I can’t ask you to come with me. I know it’s beyond...anything that I have the right to. But I wanted you to know.”

And with that, she left the room. The three of them stared at one another for a while, before breaking off to spend some time with their thoughts.

Boone didn’t need all that much time. He had meager belongings, and he traveled light. So early the next morning, before Max could sneak out to the elevator, he was there, waiting.

“Boone,” she breathed, half shock, half relief, “what are you…?”

“Let’s go.”

Victor sat patiently smiling at them both, while Max just stared at him, and he stared back, unmoved by her hard glare. She rolled her eyes and let out a short sigh, “Boone, I have to play this quiet. There won’t be any backup; it’s got to be _silent_.”

“Casino,” he muttered to the securitron.

Victor smiled. The elevator door pinged at them, “High roller suite!”

They stepped into the lift, Victor following. They descended in silence, Max still not looking at him, but clearly not done arguing with him.

“Casino floor!”

The doors opened; Boone stepped out and made his way to the door. The courier wouldn’t stop him, wouldn’t convince him not to go, would just have to deal with his accompanying her. He’d be damned if he would let her go into enemy territory alone. 

He waited for her at the door, saying nothing, staring at her through his glasses until she groaned and stomped toward him. She returned his silence, as she slid past him, opened the door, and marched into the burgeoning light outside.

The journey south was unremarkable except for the clear line of tension in Max’s shoulders, the demonstratively rigid grip she kept on her shotgun. She was quiet as ever. He did little to contribute to conversation. They moved quickly across the Mojave, making it just out of sight of the river on day two. 

Boone tugged on Max’s arm, “We should be careful. This is a slave camp. I’ve...been here before.”

She gave him a strange look, a question, maybe, then deciding she already knew the answer, she simply nodded. 

“I see any red, I’m shooting it.”

Another nod, a grin, and they started moving in the shadows, using the cover of the descending night to hide their approach. 

When the first crucifixes came into view, Max stopped, tiptoeing over to one of the victims. She inspected the woman. Boone was too far, and the light was too dim, for him to see her face, but he could picture with absolute clarity the deep frown, the grim resignation. The knife she pulled glinted in the fading sun and growing moon for only a moment. There was a whisper of a gurgle, Max speaking softly, and then nothing. 

“Stop there, traveler,” came the voice of the patrol who happened upon them in that moment, “what business do you have here?”

Boone’s finger twitched. His gun was strapped to his back. He was swinging it into his hands when the sharp blast of Max’s shotgun went off, its tone ricocheting off of the rocks. The legionary dropped less than 30 feet away from her.

“Well, we can work on being quiet later,” she shrugged, turning and continuing down the road.

Boone followed behind, rifle now ready. Given the bellowing announcement of their arrival, courtesy of the courier, he wouldn’t have time to find a suitable sniper’s nest, but he had done more with less. He kept enough distance behind her to provide adequate cover and kept close enough to compensate for the dwindling light.

The legionary she had met on the road was clearly a long range scout, since it was some time, and rather close to the small collection of buildings, before the shooting really started. Once their presence was known, things went quickly.

Boone slid back into the sort of battle trance that he found himself in when fighting alongside Max. He remained aware of her movements, her position on the field, though he was not preoccupied with it, knowing that she would go down the center, drawing them to her flanks, so he could take out those stragglers. The system worked well for them, and it was when they strayed from that that the issues usually cropped up.

Three legionaries came from the left, two dogs and two more officers coming from straight ahead. He was almost disappointed to see that they hadn’t stationed their own snipers along the ridge to the right - lost tactical advantage, that, though they probably didn’t anticipate two people like them, who had rid the world of far more Legionairies than were present here.

As was her wont, Max got in close and personal, snarling in the face of the enemy. Boone never hid his own hatred of the Legion, but given the distance that he kept in battles, it was cold and measured. Max, then, was the external embodiment of the violent rage he felt. It was beautiful and frightening to behold. It drove him to continue loading and shooting, if only he could see it again the next time.

He focused on the left flank, giving Max the free reign of the center. So long as he could hear the resonating thunder of her shotgun, he could focus. He had gotten into the habit of using her shots as a metronome. It made it easier to know if something was going wrong.

Two down on the left. The howling didn’t cause that sharp shiver in him anymore. Primarily because Max usually made quick work of the beasts, though she had admitted once, late at night under the stars and a few too many pulls of whiskey, that she regretted shooting them. “Not their fault they were raised to attack. Just raised on the wrong side. I hate it.”

As if on cue, the yelped whimper of one of the hounds attacking was let loose, followed by a shotgun blast.

Third one was down. He turned his scope.

Far ahead and slightly to the right of Max, a Legionary was running with a machete raised. He took the shot, while Max ducked beyond the rifle of another, lifting her gun to smack him in the face before taking the shot.

A post battle quiet descended, with the last of the red-clad combatants fallen. He took a slow, measured inhale, then joined in with Max, scavenging for any spare ammo. They worked in relative silence.

Max stood up suddenly, eyes scanning the buildings that they had approached, “You hear that?”

After a beat, he did; someone was calling out, “We’re in here!”

The pair made their way toward the cry, finding a fenced in area where three people were caged. The fury in Max’s face mirrored what was in his chest and could have leveled the whole place, probably. She motioned for him to hold back and scan the perimeter, while she approached the man speaking to them, exchanging soft words.

Her conversation concluded, she returned, “Says one of these assholes has a key.”

“Haven’t cleared the buildings, yet. Could be there.”

She shook her head, “He said their guard ran off when he heard gunfire. Did you find a key?”

He returned her gesture, using his scope to scan the buildings around them.

Max let out a low breath that sounded an awful lot like “fuuuuuuuuck,” then motioned to him to follow. 

In the gathering dark, they went back through the bodies they had already searched. Despite the near full moon, it was slow work, and they came up empty handed. Either the man had run off when the fighting started - unlikely, given who they were dealing with - or they had missed someone. That meant there was a building or two that had legionaries lurking within.

Max’s frustration was growing steadily, written in her features, her posture. She was handy with a lot of things, but she had never mastered the art of picking a lock. At some point she had stopped trying and resolved herself to using computers or fighting to get through barricades.

He grabbed her shoulder and tugged her towards him, “Hey. Let’s just go through these buildings and see what we find.”

She gazed up at him for a moment before giving a resigned nod and bumping him with her hip. Some of the tension melted from her in that moment, and Boone didn’t try to keep the swelling pride at bay. Her lopsided grin filled him with warmth, and for the first time in a couple of days, he thought about their kiss in the blast zone and the more intense moment that had followed soon after. They still hadn’t really discussed it. They still hadn’t even stuck their toes into that water again; there had been too much to do. 

Something about that fact rattled something in his mind, insisting he should investigate that line of thinking, but then they were on the move again, and it was too late; Max was approaching a door. Back to business; he readied his rifle and stepped back.

Depending on how he looked at it, Max had great luck or terrible luck. When the first blast came out of the door that she had opened and very nearly hit her directly, he was convinced it was bad luck. He took the shot without a moment’s hesitation, watching with grim satisfaction as the attacker’s face disintegrated in his scope. There was no one behind the man; Boone was cognizant enough to notice that before dropping the rifle and going immediately to Max’s side.

She had been grazed, but her armor had stopped it. Relief, warm and satisfying, flooded him, and he brought her against his chest, breathing in the scent of her hair and letting it out in a shudder. 

“‘M fine, Boone,” she mumbled into his shoulder, and he pulled away just enough to look her over. Convinced that she wasn’t injured, he nodded and stepped back.

When they found the key on the corpse of her would-be killer, he thought maybe she had the most amazing luck in the world, and it felt that much better to watch the family they freed make their escape with Max by his side.


	20. Infiltrating the Legion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They enter the Legion camp under the cover of darkness, the mission clear from Max: go in silent and reach their objective. It’s a good plan, but as they move through the camp, Boone’s rage gets the best of him. Has he done irreparable damage to their relationship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one gets...not as funny? If you thought Boone was struggling before, hoo boy! I remember being in a Mood when I wrote this. I also needed a way to set up some of the times that Max goes away. Not bringing companions along for DLC was both a relief for writing and a pain...this is a long one.

Max insisted they arrive at the Legion camp at night; it was a good plan, so they agreed to stay and rest at Cottonwood Cove before moving on. It gave them a chance to filter through the items left behind and get some rest. It gave him a chance to make sure that the near miss with the combat rifle hadn’t done more damage than she was putting on. 

She offered again to go alone, to let him hang back, hold down the fort, so to speak. He refused; she was crazy to think he would let her go in there alone.

So it was Boone found himself standing by the water, as the sun set, casting a dazzling array of color against its calm surface. It would be beautiful any other time.

Nearby Max was working at the knot that held the makeshift raft they would be taking over to the Legion’s camp. He watched her somewhat distractedly. 

“There’s a good chance this is a one way trip,” he finally mentioned, tracing her silhouette, “I’ve made peace with that. Have you?”

She looked over her shoulder at him but said nothing, just went back to untying the knot. A self-satisfied hum was the only indication that she had managed to get it loose, and she stood, gesturing at the wooden planks that would take them across to the den of vipers and home of his sworn enemies.

They traveled over the water in silence. Boone found it difficult to get a read on her in the low light. If she was worried, she made no outward sign. Had she resigned herself to the same fate he had himself? Something about the very prospect made him feel sick; she was the best thing to enter his life since Carla, and she was the best hope the Mojave had for a resolution - whatever that looked like - to the growing storm. She had to survive this.

As they approached the far shore, she finally spoke, quietly commenting, “I almost suggested we strip one of those assholes and try to sneak in, but the thought of putting on one of their uniforms made me feel sick.”

He snorted.

She grinned.

The raft bounced lazily off the dock, and Max nearly fell off the thing trying to grab for the rope hanging off the pier. Boone pushed her back onto the wooden planks and grabbed it instead, tying them off. 

The courier took a long, deep inhale, then looked at him, giving a nod, which he returned, and then she moved. 

Their progress was slow and, for Boone, immensely frustrating. The cold hatred he had for the slavers and despots they were among was starting to burn, but Max kept staying his hand. Her silent, though cutting, looks were the only reminders he received that they were meant to be sneaking in, not soaking the ground in blood. Her unwillingness to go in guns blazing, to take place in wholesale slaughter, had him growing steadily more angry with her.

Every time they held back behind a tent before sprinting, low and silent, to the next cover, he clenched his fist. When she shook her head knowingly at him, as he prepared to take a shot, he had to bite his tongue not to shout at her. By his estimation, it was an hour of stealthy passage through enemy territory, where every single corner revealed his most reviled villain, and his hands were all but tied. 

Patience now leads to victory later, he kept telling himself. Max was just trying to win the war, and that was why, he reminded himself again, watching a legionary walk by not twenty feet away, she was going to be the one to free the Mojave of this cancer once and for all. He would die gloriously in the midst of the camp, in an attempt to kill them all, and nothing would change. She would guide them silently through to enable some trap - there’d better be a trap; if they found nothing, he might not make it out - to ensure they never rose from the ashes.

As they were creeping towards the third hour, his rage was simmering, but gripping his rifle was difficult. He and Max were both slick with sweat; despite the sun being down, it was warm in the camp, and the slow, methodical work they were doing had them both on edge. 

Boone took in his surroundings. They had made it through the main camp, up a side road - the worst of it, by far, as there was little in the way of cover, and he hadn’t army crawled in some time - through another small camp, and now they were in a walled off area filled with long, open canvas, and in the center, a building. Max pointed at it, then motioned that they would swing around the right.

Most of the camp was sleeping, but there were still guards about. He wanted to sneak into a tent and take out the ones inside, but that would eventually alert the guards to their presence. He stayed his hand, and he glared at the back of Max’s head.

They approached the building, and Max held up a finger, sliding silently along the wall to peer around the corner. She held up the finger again, this time alerting him that there was one guard, then held her hand in a fist, motioning for him to stay put. She disappeared around the corner. He shuffled somewhat closer to the edge, despite her orders, and he could hear, just barely, a muffled grunt, then scraping. Max reappeared, dragging the legionary, leaving a trail of blood. She pointed at the blood with her chin, then made a sweeping motion at the sand, and he got to work, kicking sand over the red streak in the ground, while she dropped the corpse somewhere that would keep it hidden, at least for a while.

An entire camp of soldiers, and they had killed only one. He dug his blunt nails into his palm and gritted his teeth.

Max made quick work of the door, whispering just before she opened it, “We get in and fight inside.”

He nodded. He wanted the camp to be bathed in blood, but he would have to make do with the cramped, close quarters fighting and a few dead legionaries.

She opened the door; he stepped in, and she swung in behind, shutting and locking the door behind them before any of the men inside could shout. And then it was chaos. There were three men inside, and their confusion led to a sloppy attack.

Boone lost control. The rage and vehemence that had pent up during their agonizing crawl through the camp came out in a bellowed roar, and it was demonstrated with his fists. He used the butt of his rifle, as well, but not one bullet left the chamber. He had no sense of where Max was in the fray, and she didn’t even occur to him. All he saw was red. Red fabric. Red blood. Red mist at the end of his scope. Red. Raw and wet and splattered. There were flecks of white mixed in, pink, and brown.

A hand grabbed his wrist, and he wrenched free, swinging with his other fist. It hit its target, and his assailant staggered back. He turned toward him, reached out for his throat.

But it wasn’t a he. His fingers spasmed; his hands dropped to his side.

Max had a knife half raised, no doubt ready to draw his attention, make him loosen his hold. She tossed it to the side, when she saw he recognized her, and brought her hand up to her face. His eyes followed the movement, and he was horrified to see blood trickling from her nose. 

She said nothing.

The smell hit him, and he looked around. One of the legionaries lay dead at her feet, clean cut to his throat. Another was slumped on his side, a stolen machete in his back. And the third was behind him, unrecognizable now from the beating Boone had given him. The silence roared around him.

Max half walked, half stumbled to the desk that was on the far end from where he stood. She dropped the platinum chip into the slot before slumping into the nearby chair and digging through her pack. She ignored the grating noise of the metal plate in the floor sliding back, revealing a stairwell.

He thought to offer to help her, but there was a wall around her, invisible but impenetrable. He could only watch, a growing sense of panic and shame filling him. He couldn’t remember any of the fight. The courier stared down at a stimpack for a moment, as if she couldn’t see it or had forgotten how to use it, before she angled it and jammed it into her leg.

She leaned back, taking a deep breath, while it did its job. 

Boone became aware of his hands. He looked down at them and winced. It was difficult to know whose blood was coating them. His stomach churned, spasmed. He reeled back and scanned the room for something, anything, he could use to clean them. A cloth hit him in the face.

He wiped his fingers first, his palms, the backs of his hands, each of them shaking enough to make it difficult work. He cleared his throat, but the weight of the silence had him in a stranglehold. He didn’t bother offering the cloth back.

Though she said nothing and wasn’t looking at him, she seemed to sense when he was done because she stood, readied her shotgun, and started towards whatever awaited below them.

Max’s absence freed some of the pressure of the silence. Had he hit her? She had grabbed him, probably even called his name, but he had only lashed out. There was no accusation in her face, but then, she hadn’t really looked at him since it happened. He felt intensely aware of his skin prickling and sticky, his stomach churning, bile searing his throat. 

The sound of a shotgun blast brought him back into the moment. He had to get down there, had to cover her back, for as long as she might still let him.

By the time he arrived, he found a sizzling hunk of metal that had been a Protectron. He continued down the hallway to an opened door, where he saw Max typing into a computer. Seemingly satisfied with her work, she stood and marched back out, saying nothing to him. He swallowed hard and followed. 

They encountered no further obstacles - whatever she had done at that terminal must have put the remaining defenses off their trail.

Through the maze of metal walkways, he could only be her shadow. She was focused, silent, and he painfully felt the absence of her normal interactions. Even going through the camp above, with the tension that they both were carrying, she had tried to keep some semblance of levity between them. With no legionaries down here, probably, he would expect that normally she’d be commenting on...something. Anything.

In his own head, the sound was reaching a crescendo. 

The cacophony died when they entered the long, wider room that was empty save for the lit recesses lining the walls. Securitrons, all of them silent and unmoving, were stored within each one, staring at their new leader. Max inspected them, as they walked through, though her pace slowed.

He could almost hear her, knew what she would say, if she were speaking: this is a pretty good trap.

But she said nothing. Her pace quickened, and he followed her to what looked like a control room. Max peered out the window, staring down at the vast army of securitrons below, one right outside showing a blank screen. Boone wondered if they could even be activated.

Undeterred, she marched to the control panel on the near wall and stared down at it, chip in hand. With a nod, she inserted the chip. The panel lit up, lights making a sort of pattern across its surface. There was a sudden lurching sound, like metal grinding into motion, and the distinct sound of a securitron moving came from the window. 

It had turned and was looking at Max, its face now that of the upgraded robots - a grizzled veteran staring at his new leader.

Seemingly satisfied, Max turned on her heel and left the room, heading back to the surface. 

Boone followed again, his initial shame now turning into panic. Was she going to send him away? Was she going to tell him to find his own fight? As they followed the metal halls back to the room where it all had gone to shit, he made plans. If she sent him away, he would follow - far enough behind that it wasn’t obvious, but close enough that he could watch her back. He would protect her. He would make it up to her. This wouldn’t be his legacy to her. 

It came to him slowly, but inevitably, like the dawn. She had offered, repeatedly, to do this alone, to let him stay back and keep Cottonwood Cove clear. And before that even, she had offered to let him stay at the Strip. She had known. Max had known that this would be too much for him, that it wouldn’t end well, and he had pushed. Maybe she thought he understood. Maybe she trusted him to know if he could handle it or not. 

But all he had seen was red. All he saw was her unwillingness to give him a chance to kill more legionaries.

What had he become?

At the top of the stairs, Max faltered, just for a moment, staring at the bodies they had left above. She shook herself back into motion, but Boone struggled. He couldn’t bring himself to look at what was left of the face he had so brutally devastated. The nausea hit him again. The grating sound of the metal door closing again made him jump, and he found himself ready to be out of here, to be free of all of this.

Max stood at the door of the building, and she spoke for the first time since they had been on the other side of the very same door, “I’m going over the wall behind this place. Looked like there were some boulders. Could climb over.”

It wasn’t an order for him to follow. It was a peace offering; he recognized that much. But she was giving him a way to stay, too. If he wanted to go down fighting, here and now, she wouldn’t tell him not to.

She opened the door. The world outside was pre-dawn, stars faded, moon low in the sky, and to the East, the very first blush of daylight. This she turned toward, making her way to a rock outcropping that she could scale towards the top of the wall. 

Max had given him a choice, but she was done waiting. She disappeared over the edge.


	21. Lonesome Road Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The courier is gone. No one knows where she’s gone, and Boone knows because he’s asked everyone. While she looks for her origins, he searches his own soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noooo. Where is Max? I really wanted Boone to come to some sort of healing realization, and I thought it would be fun for him to have this revelation while Max is confronting her past.
> 
> The slow burn is about to catch fire...next chapter.

Boone had taken a lot of things for granted, he learned quickly, most notably that Max was always forthcoming with her plans and next steps. She was a big presence everywhere she went, stopping to speak with locals, helping others with their problems, even if sarcastic at times. He could always follow behind her because of this. 

He had never accounted for a day when she might not want to be found.

By the time he had got his head on straight at the Legion camp and followed behind her, the place was stirring. He was lucky to have gotten out alive, and he expected Max to be nearby, maybe waiting for him, but at the very least stopped to make camp. She was nowhere. He searched the rocky terrain just past the camp, climbed down to the road far below, skirted the water. There was no sign of Max.

At first he had panicked. Maybe the Legion had found her? He stayed near the camp for three days, watching through his scope for any sign that she was there. Surely, given her status as Undesirable Number One, they would have her on display. But nothing happened; it was clear that she wasn’t there, and he was running out of supplies.

Now days behind her, he hoped to find some evidence of her return journey. He disguised himself as a trader and took a raft back to Cottonwood Cove. Already the Legion was trying to reclaim its foothold, but it looked like there was an NCR garrison there, if the fighting he heard was any indication. That was confirmed when he approached, donning his beret once more and helping the soldiers clear out the intruders.

The soldiers there confirmed that Max had been through, called in to Hsu that the place was cleared, and they had been dispatched immediately. They had only arrived the day before themselves, and they had seen no one when they did.

Boone restocked and stayed overnight. It had been some time since he’d been out with soldiers not tethered to a base. It was good to sit with them, to share stories, play cards, fall into routines that had made the world make sense once upon a time. 

When he left he was completely unsure where to go. She may have gone to Goodsprings to check in, but given her head start, it was more likely that by now she was at the Lucky 38, so that’s where he went.

Traveling alone in silence, he found, was much different from traveling with Max in silence. But he knew that the voices, the memories, had been louder in the years before he met her. For years, Carla was the only one who could make them quiet. She liked to talk; she would tell him stories or just tell him exactly what she was thinking. She told everyone exactly what she was thinking, which had made her unpopular.

When she was gone, the memories came back in a rush. The only thing that held them at bay was his rifle and killing legionaries.

Max was different. She didn’t say everything that came to mind. She was reserved for the most part, but when she did speak, it shook the foundations of the earth. Or made people laugh. Or made things simple. Silence with Max, though, was never a bad thing. It had an air of anticipation. Every stretch of quiet with her was just the long running lead up to a jump, and so he found that his own thoughts were softer, too.

They were louder now, but they sang a different tune.

He knew for sure that he had hit her. His hatred was blinding. So much so that he couldn’t stay focused on a mission; he had been so angry, so spiteful about not being able to tear a hole through the center of that fucking camp that he had cared only about killing. But the only vivid thing in his mind now was the look in her eyes when the haze had finally cleared.

There was no storm of grey. No steel. It had been fog, low and dense, and obscuring everything behind them. The most open and warm person he had ever met was wrapped in a cold, protective blanket. She had been afraid, for at least a second, that he would try to kill her. 

She had offered to let him stay behind.

At night when he camped, he was plagued with other memories, too. The fire that lit his veins when they came in contact was far hotter than the simmering hatred he felt. Every agonizing detail of their stolen moments together - the shape of her bottom lip when he captured it in his, the jutting curve of her shoulder blade, as he slid his palm down her back. He had no right to claim these moments. He had let the Legion get the better of him, and in that way, they had won.

He understood that, now, but at what cost?

When he arrived at the 38, he wasn’t truly surprised to find that she was not there and had not even been there. His two day journey through the Mojave had stripped him of his illusions. He had wounded her. She had put her unwavering trust in him, and he had failed her. It wasn’t about him striking her in the moment of battle lust. It was about his losing control. It was about his letting that old wound fester and rot him from the inside out.

So no, she wasn’t here. 

“What happened?” Arcade had shot up from his chair, approaching quickly and scanning behind him for Max, “Where’s Max?”

Boone shook his head, “She, uh. She’s fine. She just…”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed, as he studied Boone, “What happened?”

Boone wasn’t particularly close to the other man. He always felt that Arcade looked down on him, maybe, or at least didn’t trust him. But he had no one else. So he told him everything. 

Arcade, to his credit, listened without interruption. There were no outward signs of judgement, though Boone felt sure, at the point he told him what happened inside that building, there was some. The two of them polished off what was left of a bottle of whiskey, and at the end of it, they sat in silence for some time.

“What are you going to do?”

It was a fair question, and one that Boone had been considering for a while. He shrugged.

“Seems to me you have a choice to make. You can either keep hating the Legion, or you can start trying to love something. Someone.”

He recoiled slightly from the word, “I loved Carla. I _love_ Carla.”

With some level of patience, though far less than Max, Arcade nodded, “I get that. But she’s gone, Boone. And I think you know that you can love more than one person. And I think you know that if you hold onto only that love then you already have your answer.”

It was a devastating blow. It was also true. Arcade stood and left him to mull it over for a while.

Boone spent three days in the suite, keeping to himself, while he thought about...everything. He sat in Max’s room for a while and tried to let it all work its way through his system. Her things were all still here, left exactly as they had been when the two of them started toward Cottonwood Cove. On her desk was a scattered pile of weapon mods. On the floor near her bed were the clothes she had slept in the night before they left. An old, pre-war magazine about lockpicking was left open on her nightstand - so apparently she was still bothered by her lack of ability there.

He let himself study these pieces of her individually. He saw her ingenuity in the mods. Saw her direct and sometimes single-mindedness in her discarded clothing, a reflection of his own. He saw her perseverance in the magazine. These were things he admired in her.

He stretched out on her bed, closed his eyes. 

Boone kept coming back to the same question, wondering what she wanted from all of this. After she freed the Mojave, rid it of the Legion, what did she have planned? Would she rule over them? That didn’t seem like her. He had never really finished a conversation with her about it all.

With the clarity that comes from introspection, he realized that from day one, he had been using her to help him live out his supposed destiny. She had offered him friendship, which he had taken, and in return he had killed his enemies. She offered him an opportunity to make peace with his past, with the pain that kept him up at night, challenged him to do better, and in return, he had killed his enemies.

At every turn, she had been offering him herself. And at every turn, he had taken her hand and covered it in blood.

Worst of all, in response to her disappearance, the first thought was - what will we do without her? How will we win?

On day four, Boone had decided to continue his search. If Max had been gone this long, there was a reason, and he would find out. He offered to bring Arcade along, but the man made a good point - someone had to be here in case she came back. In truth, he probably recognized the light in Boone’s eyes, had some idea of the realization he had come to, and was granting him space to figure things out with the courier on his own.

He packed light, planned his route, and he was gone before noon.

Every step that Boone took, every stop that he made, solidified his resolve. 

McCarran hadn’t seen her since the bomb that she had deactivated. They had a request for her, though, if he could get in touch with her.

The King had no news, either, but he wished him well in his search. “She’s our best hope,” he’d commented.

She hadn’t passed through Novac. Nipton was still a smoking pit. He found some rotting Powder Gangers on the road, which was a good sign. 

Rose of Sharon Cassidy, who has passed up the opportunity to travel with her, hadn’t seen her at the travel post, but she asked him to put in a good word for her - seemed she was ready to put her own stamp on history now.

At Goodsprings, most everyone there asked after her, but they hadn’t seen her in some time. His first break came from the doctor.

“Might be able to track her down by that pip boy. Got another one.”

Doc Mitchell left Boone in the waiting area, while he disappeared in the back. The sounds of searching drifted through the house, and he found himself wondering about the night she had been brought here. He could almost see Victor carrying her, limp and unbreathing, to the doctor. Could see her face smeared with dirt and blood, as she lay on the cot.

He could see her chest heaving with the first breath of air back into her lungs. He could see the first moment her eyes opened again, see them taking in her surroundings, trying to make sense of everything. It was the last time, probably, in the almost year since the incident, that she had been aided by people with no ulterior motive, no payment due upfront in the form of blood, sweat, or tears.

The doctor returned with a device similar to the one worn by the courier, though it was clear that the latch was broken. “Can’t wear it,” he confirmed, “but should work.”

He handed it to Boone, and they watched text scroll across the screen, as it booted up. His heart hammered in his chest; this was the closest to hope he’d been in over a week of searching. 

Finally a familiar screen appeared. He wiped it clear of dust and started turning the knob. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, exactly, but he knew that sometimes the courier would receive radio signals. He flipped through the signals available, hope diminishing as only static came over the tinny speaker.

A last turn of the knob, as he prepared to toss the damn thing out the window, revealed a message. It was short - a set of coordinates and then “Courier Six. Ulysses.”

He had no idea what it meant, but it didn’t seem like a friendly invitation by any stretch, “Got something I can write with?”

“Take it, boy,” Mitchell grunted, “go on.”

Taken aback, he could only nod his thanks, his head feeling loose, as it rose and dropped over and over again. He fumbled with the pip boy, finally just dropping it into his pack, as he took the stairs down from the house in one giant step. He hit the ground with a low grunt and reminded himself that he couldn’t sprint to Primm.


	22. Lonesome Road Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone searches for the courier in all of the likely places, disenchanted and worried. He finds Max at the edge of a canyon. She’s shaken, and he’s resolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well we have arrived at the flame. If you are not into the sexual content, I would probably just skip ahead to the next chapter. Or read a little of this one. You’ll know when it’s going to happen. I used enough subtlety with the rest of the it.

In the heat of mid-afternoon, Boone set out toward the town that would have made her sheriff. His pace was faster, probably, than was wise, but his bones itched with the knowledge of where she had gone. Who was Ulysses? What did this person want?

Nash Johnson confirmed that she had stopped in just over a week ago, restocking and asking again about the courier who would have carried the platinum chip. But she hadn’t been back since.

Boone studied the coordinates, keyed them into the map, and after restocking his own supplies, returned to the road to follow the path that Max would have walked. Along the side road leading to the canyon, he found ghoul and coyote remains, a partially hidden camp fire, and finally, the road block spray painted to mock her.

Had she gone in? He had no way of knowing. What was beyond the burned out bus and piled cars? He thought to climb one of the walls, pull out his scope and get a better look, was preparing to do that when the sound of scraping metal from the overturned truck he had passed had him turning.

Max emerged, eyes blinking against the light, as she squinted over at him. Realization dawned, “Boone?”

He dropped his rifle, sprinted to her, “Max!”

He wanted to throw his arms around her, pull her into him, feel her real and solid in his embrace, but the memory of how things were left between them sobered him. His arms were reaching out, an invitation. A question. She moved into them, accepting his show of affection. She looked shaken. 

“How did you…?”

“Max, I’m sorry. About what happened. I...I have so much to apologize for. I realize that now. I was worried. We all were. But I...I went — What happened? Are you ok?”

He pulled back far enough to look her over, hands on her face to maneuver it, to inspect her.

She looked tired. There was a new scar on her cheek and another that was just visible at the bottom of her neck. He felt blood drain from his face, “Max, what happened?”

Her eyes flicked behind him to the crumpled cars that blocked the path, “The Divide,” she murmured, before looking back up to him, “You came looking for me?”

The question was more than that, he knew. It was asking if he had left the camp. What had he decided?

He inhaled slowly, let the breath seep into his tightened chest, allowed himself to feel the heavy thud of his heart, as he gazed at her. His thumbs swept over her cheeks, and he nodded. 

“Max,” he started, knowing that he owed her more than that, “I don’t want the Legion to own me anymore.”

He expected her to look confused; she only looked relieved.

“Apparently I was the only one who didn’t see that that was the case. I hesitated at the camp. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. Always understanding. Always patient. Better than him. 

“But that’s not going to happen again. Tell me, Max. Tell me what I can do.”

“What?” She sounded almost breathless. He released her face and stepped back to give her some space.

“What do you want?” 

She didn’t meet his eyes, just shook her head, staring behind him again, at whatever had happened beyond that door, “Nothing. I...I want...I want to be done, I guess. I want this war to be over.”

He stepped closer, watched his breath shift the loose hair at the top of her head, “What do you need?”

Her face tilted up, then, really looked at him for the first time, eyes scanning his face, as if she didn’t quite recognize him. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She just shook her head, looked down again. He reached out, slid his hand over her jaw and coaxed her to look back up at him, “Max. Tell me.”

It could be his imagination, but her lip seemed to tremble, “I have done terrible things,” she whispered, “and I’m afraid I will have to do them again. But I couldn’t. In there. I could have, but I…”

She was trembling in earnest then, her sentences choppy, rambling. He planted a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, gave her the patience that she so often offered to others.

After a moment, a deep breath, she looked up at him again, words measured, “I had a chance to blow up the Legion, Boone.”

He kept himself still. Listened.

“But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t condemn everyone in Legion territory to die. Not like that.”

He nodded. 

Her eyes clouded, misted, and tears fell from them, making tracks over her cheeks. He collected them with his thumbs, brushing them away and dropping his lips to her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, sounding miserable.

He pulled back then to study her, feeling hopelessly guilty, “Max. Don’t apologize to me for that. For not wiping out countless lives. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel that...that you would have to do that.”

How could he explain? He was never good with words. He owed her everything. Everything in him. She owed him nothing, and here she was feeling that she owed him her very soul. So he returned to his question.

“Max. Tell me what I can do for you. What do you need from me?”

A strangled sob left her, and she leaned into him. He pulled her in close, wrapped his arms around her to keep her there, against him. He whispered into her hair that he was there, wouldn’t leave, would wait there as long as she needed.

“Not about the Legion,” he breathed against her, “not anymore. Understand?”

She nodded against his shoulder, and he felt himself relax. He was no good with words, but it seemed he was clear enough. He felt Max’s hands travel up his back just before she straightened and pulled back, wiping her face, “Ok. Let’s...let’s finish this, then.”

She meant all that she had started in the Mojave, he knew that. But he had no interest in the Legion or the NCR right now. He could see in his mind the coming days, weeks. They had hit the precipice, and from here things would move quickly. He felt it in his gut. 

He wrapped his fingers around her bicep, tugged her back into his space, leaned down, and kissed her. She froze for just a moment before responding. He set the pace, kept it calm and even, unwilling to ignite the inferno between them, but allowing the spark to kindle naturally, gently. 

He felt her step closer, molding against him, hands on his chest marking him from the inside out. His hands drifted down, felt the curve of her, slid over her ass to the backs of her thighs. He gripped her firmly and lifted. She gave a pleased hum against his lips and wrapped her legs around his hips, tugging gently back toward the truck that she had exited.

It wasn’t ideal. She deserved something like the suite in the Lucky 38, with a bed that was still soft, temperature controlled instead of the still punishing heat of the desert. But she didn’t seem overly concerned.

His lips dragged over hers; his tongue slipped against hers to taste before sliding back. She gripped his shoulders, as he walked them back towards where she had set up camp. At the truck bed, he lowered her until she sat on the edge, then pulled back, whispering her name against her lips and sliding his fingers up her sides, under her shirt. 

Max gazed at him, lifting her arms to help him strip the shirt away. He noticed her armor to the side and made a mental note of where it was, just in case, still thinking like a soldier, despite everything. With the shirt removed and no open wounds visible, he traced patterns into her skin, first with his fingertips, then leaning down to draw them with his lips. She was warm against him, body flushing, as he continued his exploration. 

His tongue traced the scar that dragged down her clavicle. He was curious, wanted to ask, but it could wait. One hand worked the strap of her bra down, off of her shoulder, while the other reached back to unhook it entirely. He kissed her neck, just under her ear, made a trail down to her shoulder, felt her shudder, as he followed the path of the strap he removed, just before tugging the whole thing off. 

Aware of where they were, he leaned against her, urging her with his body to scoot back, which she did, watching with something between awe and hunger, as he crawled onto the truck bed to follow her. She had laid out her sleeping bag and thin mat - it would do. He helped her onto it, squeezing her ass and thighs for good measure, before diving into the valley of her breasts with lips and tongue, her sharp inhale the only noise to break the silence.

Her hands roamed over the short crop of his hair, then tugged off his sunglasses. His gut reaction was to protest, but he bit back that panic. This was Max. She could have all of him, if that’s what she needed. He would keep no part of himself from her.

His lips made a path over one breast, stopping briefly to wrap around the nipple, then kissing the underside before continuing down to the rippled plane of her stomach, to the band of her jeans. Her hips arched up to him, and he grinned, leaving a gentle nip over her hip, then moving to the other side. He worked her button loose, pulled down the zipper of the pants, tugged at them, while his tongue tried to stay in place over her second breast.

He pulled away long enough to divest her of her remaining clothes, stared down at her for a long moment once she was bared before him. Something in him burned. Something in him wept. Something in him whispered; something roared. She was blushing; he realized he’d been staring, so he leaned down to capture her lips again.

She tugged at his shirt, but he grasped her wrists and tugged them away, marveling at their size in his palms. He kissed them in turn before descending on her again, drawing a trail down her body with his tongue, until he came to the apex of her thighs. He kissed her hips, her legs, urged them open, so he could lean in and draw his tongue up to her clit, where he zeroed in his focus. She gasped a stuttered inhale, her body jolting beneath him; he wondered how long it’d been for her.

His fingers swirled over her legs, pushing them further apart, so he could slide his shoulders beneath them. One hand wrapped around the flesh of her thigh; the other slid beneath his tongue, and teased at her entrance. She whined at the contact, hips rolling slightly, and he pressed one in. She was warm and slick. He closed his eyes to savor the feeling, her taste.

Carla had been the one to teach him what was good for a woman. First Recon had taught him patience and focus. These two things he used to his advantage, exploring her body carefully, listening for her gasps, moans, and whimpers to direct him. He added a second finger when she started squirming against him, satisfied with her contented sigh and the slick evidence of her pleasure gathering on his fingers and chin. He groaned against her, imagining that same warmth pressed in all around him.

Filled with that anticipation, he made one final, lingering swipe of his tongue against her and removed his fingers. She exhaled sharply in protest, but she was quickly appeased when she saw him stripping his shirt over his head. She reached out, fingers scraping over his exposed abdomen, and he tried to suppress the shiver at the contact.

He moved to his own pants, managing to remove everything in record time before crawling onto the truck bed above Max, staring down at her in disbelief, a little bit of nervousness swimming to the surface.

The moment struck him only then. He had fucked other people since Carla - whores only. No one who meant anything to him. Max had become his single guiding light over the past year, leading the way to a better Mojave, to his own salvation. Every moment with her, he had been focused on the same goals, right along with her, and over time she had become immensely important to him.

Boone waited for the guilt. He waited for the recoil, the sudden, terrible urge to back out and leave Max alone. But it didn’t come. He kissed her, disbelief and relief both prominent in his mind. He felt her fingers on his cheek, his neck, his shoulder. He was shaking when he took himself in hand and positioned at her entrance. Her mouth opened against his when he pressed forward, pushing into her.

Their gasps were simultaneous. Max was gazing up at him, and in the space of a heartbeat, he was overwhelmed. He stilled for a moment, taking her in, sticky with sweat, hair splayed beneath her, her hands still up by her head. He inhaled slowly, adjusted, so his hands covered hers, pleased when her fingers twined with his.

He resumed his movement, hips rocking against hers in a rhythm of their own, while he stared down at her, trying to reconcile his reality with what he had imagined in the secret dark of night. He kissed her again, swallowing her moans, and adding his own gasps of pleasure to her symphony. 

He felt the initial fluttering, the measured squeeze that signaled Max’s approaching climax. He released one hand to trail his own fingers over her body, shoulder to breast to ribs to stomach, and finally to her clit, rubbing in steady, firm circles. She arched against him, hands reaching up to grip his shoulders hard, and his own pleasure peaked moments later.

They each stilled, eyes closed, breaths slowing and even, before coming together once more in a soft, lazy kiss.

The last layers had been stripped away. For Boone, at least, there was no going back.


	23. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone and Max return to the Lucky 38. Things have changed now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter - the interlude before we head toward the Battle of Hoover Dam. Light smuttiness.

Boone woke to sticky heat and filtered light, a weight against his side. For the briefest moment, he wondered where he was, if the previous night was just a dream - Max rolling with him, against him, on a makeshift mattress in the bed of an old truck. He opened one eye, relieved to see the courier stretched next to him, naked save for a thin blanket that covered them. The sun was rising enough to make the truck begin to feel like an oven.

He groaned and sat, reaching out to press his palm against her side, “Max. Gotta get up.”

She mumbled something unintelligible, but her eyes opened and gazed up at him. She was grinning slightly, bottom lip tucked under her top teeth.

He shook his head, “Nuh-uh. This truck’ll bake us. We need to move.”

She gave him a playful pout, but nodded, “You’re right.”

They dressed quietly. Boone took it as a good sign that she still seemed interested in him, that there was a softness in her gaze that had followed them into the morning. He stole glances at her, as she dressed, admiring her in a new light, having explored the expanses of tanned flesh more thoroughly over the course of many dark hours.

There had been the most minute fear that in the light of day, things might change. They hadn’t. At least not for him. He waited for the wave of guilt, as he appreciated her figure, but it never came. 

He was glad. He had tried to make peace with it last night, after watching her fall asleep next to him, her taste still on his lips. He had carefully sat up, slipped out of the truck bed and borrowed one of her cigarettes. With his pants back on, he had gone a few yards away, gazing up at the stars, wondering what happened to people when they died.

He explained everything to Carla. She hadn’t been an overly jealous woman, though that had mostly been due to the fact that Boone had never had eyes for anyone else. When he was in the army, he had always thought she’d move on if something happened to him. He’d want her to be happy, after all. To be cared for.

Of course she wouldn’t have been responsible for his death, either.

There was a bite of acid in his throat, still, when he thought of it. It would probably never stop. But, as with all things, it was quieter around Max, easier to handle.

Still - he asked for her blessing. He told her, if she could hear, about how Max made him feel, about the great things she was doing for the people in the Mojave. She needs someone, he tried to explain, and he could be that someone. And anyway - could she ever forgive him?

Boone wasn’t a religious man. He didn’t have a lot of faith in most anything, but before he turned back to the truck, a light shot across the sky, a star falling to earth. 

A hand was on his shoulder, “Boone? You ok?”

He turned to see Max dressed and ready to go. He held his own bag in his hands, but he realized he was staring out at the empty land beyond. He shook his head, then realized that could be misinterpreted, “Fine. Just was thinking.”

Something crossed Max’s features, “Are you...ok with what happened last night?”

The memories played in his mind at her question. After the first time, they had shared a drink, made something to eat, and then she had taken him in her mouth, and he had forgotten his own name. She had straddled him, fingers in his hair, as she kissed him and rolled against him. 

He shifted slightly, nodding.

She studied him a moment, gauging his reaction, then seemingly satisfied, smiled, “I’m real good with what happened last night myself, but I understand if…”

She trailed off. Her smile was still there, but it was guarded now. He grunted, wrapped an arm around her and tugged her close, nuzzling her hair. He hoped that would be enough, and at her light laugh, he assumed it was.

They parted, then, and she gave a happy sigh, “Should head back to the 38. It’ll happen soon; I can feel it. Gotta make a stop along the way.”

Their journey was relatively easy, or at least as much as it ever was. They were still a machine when in battle, efficient and seamless in their planning and execution. If he felt just a little more desperate to keep her alive than he had before, well, then, that was just because he allowed himself to.

Battle wasn’t the only thing that was different now, either. Their nights making camp weren’t as quiet as they had been. Max was never very loud, but the gasps and whimpers that accompanied the darkness were music to his ears. He explored every inch of her when the sun was down, the months that they had spent together culminating in the quiet moments between them, enjoying the afterglow.

But the Mojave was not ready to rest, and it was clear as soon as they arrived at the El Dorado Substation.

One of the final steps, as Max had put it, was making sure the lights would stay on. It was clear, given the state of things, that the dam was vulnerable, and vulnerable meant unreliable. The way she explained it, if the absolute worst happened, she wanted to make sure New Vegas, including the securitrons, could maintain power.

The El Dorado Substation was controlled by the NCR, and Max was often welcomed by its soldiers, but there was tension in the air, and Boone felt his hackles rising. It was a response to the feeling of a city, an entire region, on the brink, but it was also selfish. On the road, other than the fights with Powder Gangers or creatures of the desert, he had Max to himself. They had been able to wrap themselves in a sort of cocoon. Now, back in the midst of the oncoming war, she was the Mojave’s.

“Shouldn’t take long,” she murmured against his lips, when he hesitated to let her go.

“I’ll go with you.”

She grinned, rolled her eyes, “Fine.”

They weren’t welcomed, but they weren’t immediately turned away either. Max’s shoulders were tight, though, as they walked through the doors. He understood, in theory, what was going to happen. She was going to take control of the power running through this station. It made sense.

But this was Max; she hated taking things that weren’t freely given or removed from the fingers of dead legionaries. He squeezed her shoulder and disengaged from her to distract the guards inside.

Part of him wanted to stop her. The part that had devoted so much of his life to the NCR. The part that spent another part of his life waking up in a cold sweat, finger twitching with the memory of “fire until you run out of bullets,” thought maybe it was time for them to leave the Mojave after all.

As a compromise, he didn’t watch her, even out of the corner of his eye. He kept the guards busy, asking some inane questions about how he might get a posting there, and it was less than five minutes when she returned to his side.

They said their farewells, left the building, and were back in camp in less than an hour. He held, while she questioned her choices, questioned if she was doing all of this just for power, despite what she’d said before.

“You’re doing the best you can,” he reminded her.

“But is it the right thing?”

He just shrugged. He wasn’t the person to answer that. He couldn’t imagine her doing the wrong thing, though, and he told her as much, as they watched the sun set and the lights of the Strip come on to remind them both of what they were working toward.

It was light out, with a few hours yet of sun, when they trudged up the steps to the Lucky 38 the following day. Max gripped his hand, as they ascended in the elevator, and dropped it at the suite level. 

He stopped outside the door, eyebrow raised when she stayed in.

“Gotta talk to Yes Man,” she explained, looking more tired than she’d seemed during their return journey, “make sure the preparations are in order before this place blows.”

Disappointment sat in his gut, but he nodded. He didn’t know what he had expected. This was Max and the 38. They weren’t returning home from a honeymoon. She was...whatever it was she was for people of the Mojave, and he was her shadow. 

When all of it was over, he told himself, things would be different.

Still in the elevator, Max’s eyes held an apology, and he knew that when it _was_ over, she’d be his. Fully.

“It’s alright, Max. Just come find me when you’re done.” He was aiming for suggestive, and the slight blush on her cheeks seemed to indicate he had hit the mark.

The doors closed, and he sighed.

There was a cough behind him, and he turned, startled and embarrassed - it shouldn’t be so easy to get the jump on him. Arcade stood, arms crossed, looking between the door and Boone, and Boone just shrugged and walked past him to wash up.

“I knew it,” was all the doctor said, as he passed.


	24. Hoover Dam Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes Man has warned Max about a threat against the president of the NCR. To ensure that some semblance of stability is maintained, she heads out to rescue him. The likelihood of returning without stumbling into the middle of a war is slim to none. Confessions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoover Dam has a ton of stuff going on. And I had Ideas. So here is part one. We are stupid close to the end. Just got back from a conference. Feeling pretty darn good. Enjoy!

It was only about an hour before Max returned to the suite, her eyes cold steel. She called them all into the kitchen, and they gathered in minutes, a ragtag group seated unevenly around a table of finery that defied the state of the world.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, eyes closed, and Boone wanted to touch her, smooth away the tension, but he wasn’t sure where they stood. While she had been upstairs, some of the others had cracked jokes or made comments; he responded with stony silence. It wasn’t his place to tell them anything - not what had transpired between them or anything else of the sort.

“Rumor is the Legion is going to try and assassinate the president,” she started, still standing and leaning against the table. 

When the words left her mouth, she sighed, kicked out a chair and sat, “The thing is - I don’t know how much I care overall, but it would cause a world of hurt and just, in general, I don’t want the Legion to succeed in anything.”

“Do we have more than a rumor?” Arcade leaned back with a shrug, probably also less than concerned about the fate of the NCR’s leader.

“It’s enough that I’m going ahead to Hoover Dam.”

All eyes were on her then.

“And I expect that the final fight will happen soon after, so here’s what I’m hoping. For those that wish to join in, I’m leaving tomorrow. My plan is to get to Hoover Dam in a day, save this guy, and then prepare. If you’re interested, take a day, then follow. There is a ranger camp just outside of the dam where you can make camp, if things go slower than I think they will.”

There was a heavy silence around them. Boone studied the others. None of them were surprised about this. Everyone knew that at some point the Legion and the NCR were going to come to blows and that they would do so at the dam. It had been almost a year of preparation, careful maneuvering, and straight up diplomacy on Max’s part to get them to where they were. But it still felt too soon. And too real.

“I don’t expect anything more than you’re willing to give,” she continued, “but I know it’s coming. Soon. And I’d love to know that you all are ready.”

For a breath, there was nothing.

Arcade tapped the table, “I’m in.”

Cassidy was next, despite having only arrived a couple of days before them. ED-E of course was game.

Max nodded, “Then I’ll see you all there. I recommend that you tend to any business you have here.”

She stood and walked out. It was unusual. She had always been the last to leave her little meetings, opting to stay behind in case someone had questions.

Boone felt the others looking at him, waiting to see what he would do. Undeterred he stood as well and followed after her. She had just slipped through her bedroom door, leaving it ajar, a clear sign that he was welcome, so he followed.

There was an air of similarity to the night they had been swept up in the moment, temporarily forgetting injuries. This time was different, though. Before them was a very real precipice, and neither of them had sustained physical harm on their return journey. 

Boone reached behind her and shut the door, looking down into her face. She inhaled sharply, leaned against the door. No longer so unsure with her, he immediately reached for her, hands around her hips to tug her against his pelvis before leaning down to devour her lips. If this was going to be his last night with her, he wanted every second.

He wanted her to know…

“Max,” he breathed against her lips, kissing her lightly, repeatedly, “I need to…”

“I love you,” she murmured into his mouth.

And there it was. So simple. So direct. He felt the words in his bones. It sounded so easy for her, natural almost, like she had always said it.

He was smiling; he felt the tug of muscles. He kissed her again. Again. Again. He would continue until the world fell apart around them, he mused, but he was being rude. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, then whispered against the shell of her ear, “I love you, too.”

The mask of calm fell away from Max, and she surged to him with a hunger that, until now, had been kept at bay when they made love. She had relinquished control to him in the bedroom, but now she was tugging his shirt away and pushing him back to her bed.

Things moved quickly. She stripped herself before crawling above him. She repeated the words against his lips, “Boone, I love you.”

He stirred, growing harder every time she said it, groaning against the skin of her neck, as she worked at his pants.

“I want you,” she whispered hotly against his jaw before biting is earlobe, drawing a deep groan from him.

“I _need_ you.”

He caught up to her finally, helping her with his pants. She sat on him, and he slid into her slick heat. She was so ready for him - he couldn’t help but wonder how long she’d been waiting for this moment today. 

She rolled against him, sitting up to look down at him.

He stared back up at her, the woman who had dragged him from the very gates of hell. What did she even see in him?

He didn’t realize he had said the words out loud until she stopped and stared down at him.

“You’re loyal. You’re brave. You’re strong. Humble. You make me laugh. You admit your mistakes, and you try to make up for them. You have such depths, and when you’ve allowed me to glimpse them, even briefly, I’m in awe.”

If he weren’t buried in her, held down by her hands on his chest, he might squirm. 

“I, Max, I…”

Her pace had slowed. Her fingers drew lines down his chest, his stomach, back up. She kissed him slowly, deeply, and he remembered the feeling - the rolling in his chest, somewhere that wasn’t his stomach and wasn’t his lungs, but spread out throughout his body.

“I just want you to know,” she continued, grinding against him, “before we go into whatever is waiting. That I’ve loved you for a while.”

He wondered at how he had come to be here. How had he earned the trust, the love of this woman? 

Time drifted away. The world diminished to this room, to Max, to their shared words of devotion, of love, of promises that they desperately wanted to keep but realistically shouldn’t be making. He wanted to keep them. Somehow, instead of Death, he’d found a second chance, and all he wanted was to live the life that he had been working for. He wanted to live in peace. He thought maybe now he could figure it out.

Only after, sweat cooling, Max draped over his chest, did she bring up Carla.

“I’m not looking to replace her, you know.”

“I know.”

“I know you have room in your heart for both of us. And I want to do right by her. However you think we can.”

He was starting to think that the answer wasn’t what he had assumed for so long. Destroying the Legion was a fine cause, but it hadn’t been hers, not really. She would have wanted him to live. 

Both sounded pretty good to him. 

The bed was softer than he was used to, but he had no problems falling to sleep with Max wrapped in his arms. Waking up was even better, except for the cold, hard truth of what awaited them. 

Even Max seemed grim, as she packed her bag - mostly weapons, repair kits, and health supplies. In the bunk room, Boone found the others packing as well, though with a more leisurely pace. He was filled with a surge of gratitude on Max’s behalf, seeing these strangers prepare to help her clean out the Mojave once and for all. The group gathered at the elevator, huddling around the courier to say their farewells - temporary only, she reminded them all with a confident smile.

And then they were on the road, just him and Max, heading to Hoover Dam. Despite the release of the flood waters, so to speak, their interactions were as smooth and direct as ever. She moved with the same graceful efficiency that she always did, and he remained a couple of steps behind her.

It didn’t feel like a good omen that the road was clear the entire way. They made great time, and he found himself somewhat disappointed. He wanted to drag this out, this time before. There were no guarantees; he no longer wished for Death, but that didn’t mean its icy hands would stay away. His greatest fear now was losing Max - what would he become then?

He shoved the thought far away. It simply wasn’t an option. 

They arrived at Hoover Dam just past sunset. Max’s pace had been frantic. For someone unwilling to hand the Mojave over to the NCR, she seemed to be taking this threat on the president’s life rather personally. Maybe she was as anxious to get to the end of this as he was.

No stranger to the NCR, they were both waved through immediately, walking into the end of a security briefing. Max waited patiently, hands folded behind her, and Boone thought not for the first time that she would have been good in the military, if she hadn’t served. Her memory was fuzzy the further back things got, and he didn’t want to push for something that might be frustrating.

The officer, Ranger Grant, turned after his speech, relief plainly written on his features when Max introduced herself, “I’ve heard of you. I’m glad you here to help us out. This is a delicate matter, and we need all the help we can get from people we trust.”

And just like that, they were back in full swing. Max sat with the ranger, asking pointed questions, ignoring his short attitude to get to the information she needed. Satisfied that she was brought up to speed, she stood again, and for a moment, Boone thought the ranger might apologize. It wouldn’t be the first time someone treated the courier as a busy body, only to feel relief when they were done. 

“I’m just glad to have you on board,” he finally admitted, and Max nodded.

“The president doesn’t arrive until tomorrow. Get some rest. I’ll brief you in the morning.”

Another nod before she turned back to him, winking suggestively, “Wanna bunk with me?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn’t help but laugh. Short, soft, only for her, but it was there all the same. He followed her down into the hold, and they found a quiet corner to rest before their world changed forever.


	25. Hoover Dam Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone and Max help the rangers save the president. The end approaches, and they both know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been traveling nonstop for work. And I have more coming up next week, but I wanted to post this before jet setting off again. And by jet setting, I mean driving.

Boone woke to an empty bunk the following morning. For the briefest moment, he was consumed by a wave of panic, but it subsided quickly. Max had to meet with Ranger Grant first thing. They were safe here. For now, at least.

He willed his heart to slow, sat carefully, and made his way to the showers. It had been some time since he’d used a communal one, but old habits died hard. He was dressed and in full kit, heading up the stairs, as Max’s briefing concluded. Ranger Grant was heading outside, and the courier was turning to work some magic on the terminal nearby.

For a brief moment, he watched her. He studied her face, as she read - brow furrowed in concentration, the green text of the screen reflecting back in the lenses of her glasses. The furrow deepened, and he knew immediately that she had found something. He was at her side in a matter of strides, looking over her shoulder at the security roster. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

She must have sensed his presence because she leaned back, just a fraction, enough that her body heat was evident, “Someone accessed this file with a fake login.”

He grunted, scanned the room, “This morning?”

She shook her head slightly, “Hard to say.”

A few more clicks, and the screen changed. He continued to read alongside her - problems with the president’s vertibird? Were they intentionally making it easy for the Legion to assassinate him? 

“He really could have planned this better.”

For a fraction of a second, Boone really thought she was responding to his thought. It wasn’t possible, of course, but his chest warmed at the thought that they were in sync enough to be considering the same thing.

She turned to face him, not bothering to put space between them - a perk of the recent change in their relationship - “Ok, so we have someone who accessed the sniper locations, and if they accessed that, they could have seen this info on the engineering issue, too.”

“Should we head out?”

She shook her head, “I want to make a sweep in here. If they left tracks on the computer, maybe they left some more.”

Only then did he step to the side to let her pass, to turn and follow behind her, ever in her shadow to watch over her. They headed up the stairs; Max scanned the room slowly, seemingly focused on a blonde woman on the far side who was pacing.

With the same purpose she did most things, she strode toward her, “Everything ok?”

Her tone didn’t make it clear if she was suspicious of the woman or not. Assuming the worst, Boone let his fingers drift over the pistol on his belt - rarely used, but lucky when it was required.

The woman startled, turned, “Oh, well. You haven’t seen my friend around here, have you?”

Silence for a beat, then with a blush, “Uh, his name is Ben. He’s an engineer?”

Max looked over her shoulder at him, and he nodded slightly. 

“We were supposed to meet here, so we could watch the president’s speech together,” the woman continued, her pace picking up after the knowing glance that Max had given him, “but he hasn’t shown up yet.”

Hoping to provide some comfort, Max gestured, “Maybe he’s down in the barracks?”

A shake of her head, “He isn’t. I already looked there. We were supposed to meet up here over an hour ago. Maybe...maybe I’ll just head out there. Sorry to bother you.”

Max let the woman go, watched her disappear through the door before turning back to him, “Don’t like the sound of that.”

He shook his head. Given the evidence so far, it wasn’t looking good for whoever this Ben kid was.

Max inclined her head, and they headed back down the stairs. Underneath they found a door that led to a supply closet. Boone knew what they would find before they found it, and at her resigned _fuck_ , he knew that Max had suspected the same. The blood was sticky but not old, the wrench nearby still covered in matted hair. Max frowned, “We need to check in with Ranger Grant.”

“Gonna tell him?”

She shook her head, but they were outside before he could inquire as to her reason.

The man stood overlooking the stage where the president would be giving his speech. He turned on their approach, “There you are. You finish your sweep?”

A nod, “I’m ready. When does the president get here?”

He indicated with his chin, “Looks like that’s the vertibird coming in right now. It’s show time. Let’s not mess this up.”

Max gave a little smirk and another nod. She didn’t immediately move, though, instead pausing and gazing around.

He tugged on her arm, leaned down, “If I was the assassin, I’d set up on that ridge. Or if I didn’t care about escaping, maybe that tower, or the landing pad behind us.”

“Ok,” she breathed, “I want you to go up to that tower. I’m heading to the landing pad. When those are clear, we head to the ridge.”

He squeezed her arm to let her know he understood, to wish her luck, to tell her to come back, and he was on the move. His feelings for Max couldn’t jeopardize the work she had done. Without dwelling on it, he made his way past the crowd, keeping his eyes on his goal.

Behind him, he felt and heard the president’s vertibird landing, the wind not so violent so far below the landing pad. He clenched his fist, didn’t look back. He was too far from there to do anything, anyway. Max was resilient, smart, and resourceful - she would be fine.

He scanned the ridge, as he walked. There was nothing up there. In the light, a glint would catch his attention - not likely anyone could go unspotted. Still, the thrumming in his chest had him moving quickly.

He climbed the ladder to the top of the tower as fast as he could, fast enough that his arms and legs burned from his relentless push to go just a little quicker.

At the top, a ranger turned, narrowing her eyes, “What are you doing up here?”

He gestured to his beret, pointed at the vertibird, “Here on behalf of Ranger Grant. Found some evidence that someone gained access to the security roster, so we’re checking it out.”

The woman was hesitant, suspicious. That could be good or bad. He held up his hands, “Not here to hurt you.”

“Stay out of my way,” she finally spat, moving to the radio.

From here, Boone couldn’t help looking back over at the way he had come. He resisted the urge to grab his rifle, look through the scope to get a glimpse of what was happening. From here, everything was shapes - the ‘bird was clear enough, but the people were small and indistinct.

A few shapes were descending the ladder - the president, probably, and his guard. The sun was heating the place now, but that wasn’t the reason for the bead of sweat rolling down his neck. His eyes flicked again to the ridge. Still nothing. He turned in a slow circle, watching for signs of movement.

Something was happening. His gut was twisted with it, mouth going dry. 

There was movement at the far tower, but still he resisted pulling out his scope. The ranger had one eye on the president and one eye on him, as it was. He didn’t need to go and make her skittish.

A sound behind them. Subtle, but there.

He turned just a fraction faster than the ranger. He shouted at her to get down and sprinted to the metal latch that had just opened. Rifle wouldn’t be much good from here. He yanked his pistol free, shooting with minimal focus. He heard a bullet ricochet off the metal.

The would-be assassin was still coming up, armed with his own rifle that he was trying to swing over her shoulder.

Boone reached the opening, kicked wildly. He felt his boot contact something not quite as hard as metal, heard a grunt.

The world came into sharp focus. He looked down to see the barrel of a rifle swinging to point at him. He spun away, reached out with his right arm, pistol still in hand, and pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. The sound of the gunshot drowned out the man’s cries. Boone shot once more.

The metal door slammed shut with a resonating twang.

He staggered back, taking deep, ragged breaths. The ranger was looking at him with wild eyes, gratitude buried somewhere behind the shock. He just nodded.

After a moment, the woman scrambled up to the radio, reported in, “Assassin down. Repeat, we have taken down the assassin.”

On the other end, Ranger Grant’s rough voice, “What happened?”

The ranger recounted the story, an abbreviated version, and advised that the president should continue his speech.

Having gained her trust, Boone felt confident he could give into the itch to look through his scope and ensure Max was alright. The itch was subsiding. He had dealt with the assassin, so she would be safe now.

He kept back from the edge, making it clear that he wasn’t aiming at the president. He swept the scope over the other tower. Max wasn’t there, at least not clearly. There was another sniper and maybe something else on the other side of the vertibird. Was she just standing there? 

He chanced lowering his aim, sweeping over the crowd. A few soldiers, one or two engineers. No Max. 

He tasted bile. He swung his aim to the ridge. Still nothing there.

“And I thank you for your bravery.”

There was applause. The speech was over. Four minutes, just like the report had said. Where the fuck was Max?

He leaned over the edge, scanning the crowd.

There. She was fine. She was watching the crowd, as well. 

The president ascended the stairs, the ladder, boarded the vertibird. It took off. There was tension in her shoulders. The vessel swept over his head, roaring, throwing dust around him. He blinked against it, even his glasses doing little to protect his eyes. 

“What’s going on?”

The ranger was speaking. He shook his head, rubbing his eye beneath the lens, “What?”

Boone approached the side again, looking down. Max was pointing, shouting at one of the engineers, who turned to her. Some of the soldiers down below were closing. 

Boone brought up his scope to see what was happening more clearly. The sun caught the blade for only an instant. He didn’t remember thinking about it. The familiar, comfortable sound of his rifle rang in his ear, and the man fell at Max’s feet, the knife clattering harmlessly to the ground nearby.

She looked up.

So did the other soldiers, briefly, before clearing everyone out.

But he only stared down at her, heart hammering in his chest, as she stared down his scope and into his soul. She was ok, and they had saved the president.

The woman praised his shooting, was asking him questions, but he was already on his way down the ladder. He jogged down the road to where she was speaking to Grant. She turned to him, smile tugging on her lips, when he approached.

“Max, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thanks to some First Recon guy.”

He let out a breath that was sort of a chuckle, held his arms at his sides, willed them still, to let her finish.

“I removed the bomb, but I knew if we tried to get to him before Kimball was done…”

Grant was nodding, then looked at Boone, “I also had a report that an assassin was on the tower?”

He nodded, “They had a backup plan, it seems.”

The ranger let out a grunt, “Well we stopped them both. At least you two did. We couldn’t have done it without you, and the NCR owes you a great debt.”

Max shook his hand, and then they were dismissed. 

As soon as the official meeting was over, he strode to her side and gathered her in his arms, breathing in the scent of her hair, “That was close.”

She hugged him back, arms tight around his waist. She nodded against his chest but offered no apology. She didn’t owe him one. Couldn’t really give him one. This was her life, at least for now, and he had fallen in love with her in this context - wouldn’t be fair to ask her to leave it all behind now that they had spoken their feelings out loud.

She pulled away just slightly, “There’s one more thing we have to do. And quickly. The Legion could strike any day.”

He dragged his palms over her arms and simply nodded.

She was safe. And this would all be over soon.


	26. No Gods, No Masters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle has arrived.

“It’s time.”

Those were the only words she had shared with him and the others when she roused them all from sleep at the nearby ranger station. The glow to the north made it clear what was happening, the faint shudder beneath their feet heralding the explosions nearby.

She was already armed and armored, ready to move. It took him only minutes to join her side, and she nodded at ED-E to join, barking orders at the others to get a move on and follow after.

That was how the battle had started. 

They reached the road and were greeted by securitrons, gritty soldiers’ faces staring out at the burning mayhem to the east. They rolled silently behind the courier.

“Leave the NCR,” she shouted at them, “and kill as many legionaries as you can!”

Then they were in the thick of it. Boone struggled to keep Max in his sights, with the smoke billowing from the fires on either side. Her shotgun rang out, her voice rallying the troops that she would soon enough be asking to leave. He hoped they listened.

For a moment it was clear; he lined up his shot and pulled the trigger, watching with pleasure as the frumentarii dropped twenty feet away from the courier. She was closing in on a small group huddled behind a stack of sandbags, jumping, sliding over and slamming the butt of her shotgun into one of the faces that looked up in surprise. She shot at the other one and continued on, smoke once again obscuring her from view.

The acrid smell of laser fire from ED-E and the securitrons mingled in the air now with the woodsmoke. Distance was hard to judge in these conditions, but the wind was easier. He did what he could, but all around them were the cries of his brothers-in-arms falling. 

Max was right - the NCR wouldn’t stabilize the Mojave. The battle here was evenly matched, and he was certain that Max’s refusal to attack the NCR was the only thing tipping the scales. That was proven in short order. 

A small group of NCR soldiers was ducked behind some makeshift barriers to his right, and he almost missed the flash of red on his left. They missed it entirely, focused on the waves coming directly from the east.

Max didn’t miss it. 

She emerged from the billowing smoke just ahead, silent and focused, sprinting toward the troop of five frumentarii. Only when she closed with them did she shout, “To your left!”

The soldiers turned, startled.

Boone blinked stupidly, arms loose at his front, jaw slack.

Her shout had the frumentarii turning as well, but it was too late from them. She slammed into the side of the group, shotgun aimed nearly straight up. She shot, and the soldier right in front of her collapsed. She swung the gun around with her right arm, landing a vicious blow against the next man’s head. It rocked from the blow, and before he could turn, she had the barrel against his torso and pulled the trigger.

She needs to reload, he thought, and that had him moving again, rifle raised. 

The NCR troops also had gotten their shit together enough to provide some covering fire. 

Max was efficient, and in the span of seconds, she was blasting legionaries again. As soon as the squad was down, she was on the move again, disappearing through the smoke once more to find the next battle.

Boone followed, overhearing with a swelling pride, “Was that that courier who cleared out Nelson? Holy shit!”

“I met her once,” another soldier boasted.

He didn’t stick around to hear the rest. The sound of her periodic shotgun blasts made his path clear enough, and he followed it religiously. When the shooting stopped, he had a moment of raw fear until a hand clamped on his arm, “Boone! I’ve got to get to the control room. Can you hold things out here?”

No, he thought, no because I’m coming with you.

“I need someone to keep these soldiers alive,” she added, as if she heard his answer.

“The securitrons-“

“Are getting thinned out. I’ll take ED-E. Boone, please.”

He stared down at her, explosions rocking the dam, smoke choking the air around them, “Fuck! Ok. Okay, fine.”

She nodded.

They didn’t kiss. That would be goodbye, and this wasn’t goodbye.

“Head up top. Keep them from getting in. And I’ll meet you as soon as I’m done.”

He nodded - I love you. Come back. She returned the nod - I love you. I will.

And then she was slipping through the door. It was a few seconds after she had gone in that he realized what she had been strapping to her belt - a stealth boy. He grinned. Of course she would go in prepared.

Not wanting to waste time, he turned the corner and found the ladder that would take him to the top of the tower. No one would get through those doors while he was guarding them. The two remaining securitrons with him flanked the entrance. Between the three of them, she would definitely be safe.

They had cleaned out the troops coming from the North fairly well. Boone easily kept those coming from the East from getting any closer than 100 yards. He was up top when the Lady of the Lake flew overhead, dropping bombs down over the amassing squads of legionaries trying to regroup.

He let out a cry of triumph, waving up at the Boomers, as they passed overhead.

In the moment, things stood still. He marveled at what Max had done. Below him was a battle that had already been written. He recognized the armor of the Great Khans, closing on the Legion alongside a small gang of Kings. On the other side of the dam, the gangs from the Strip were picking off any strays that got outside of the main battleground.

And if his suspicions were correct, right about now, a veritable army of securitrons, all upgraded and programmed to obey the command of the woman inside, were powering up underneath the Legion camp.

The reign of Caesar was crumbling, and he was here to witness it.

He lined up two more shots, as a centurion began an attempt to breakthrough the wooden wall that had been thrown up to protect the control room. One brought him down, and the next took out the prime behind him.

The securitrons below sent missiles over the wall, clearing out in a matter of seconds the remaining squad that was attempting to breakthrough.

He knew that she had been successful when, on the eastern side, he saw fires starting to erupt from within the camp. Pride swelled in him, and for the first time ever, he felt certain that they would break the Mojave free of the Legion’s chains.

A familiar voice called up to him soon after, faint from the distance, but recognizable nonetheless.

Max was on the other side of the tower now, pointing toward the legate camp, “One more stop!”

He couldn’t get down to her side fast enough.

A final Legion squad was on the south-facing road, and the securitrons made quick work of them. Max, for her part, had her entire focus on the Legate camp, shooting only at those that got too close, until at last they stood before the gates.

She looked at him then, something hopeful in her eyes, and he smiled.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”


	27. A free Mojave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone follows Max to their final stop on the Battle of Hoover Dam - to face down Legate Lanius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went three weeks in a row traveling for work, and then I had a MASSIVE data migration. So I am posting my last two chapters in quick succession.
> 
> This was meant to be the end of the story. And then I wrote an epilogue.
> 
> Oops.

Given the numbers that they had already slain, it wasn’t surprising to find only a small company left inside the camp. Max pointed at the two sniper towers on either side - clearly meant to create an efficient kill zone - and he got to work, setting up. He nodded, and she strode right into the trap. The one on the right took the first shot, his head popping up just long enough to let Boone get his shot in.

He swiveled to the left and waited. Each shot that fired had his heart skipping, but he forced his focus. Finally the sniper on the left moved, shifted just enough, and he took the shot. Confirming he hit his target, he looked up from his scope in time to see Max fighting off a veteran with another approaching behind, who never made it to her.

The securitrons were rolling down and providing supporting fire, so he followed behind them.

Movement above caught his eye.

“MAX!”

She turned, saw him pointing and followed his direction.

There, at the top of the hill was Legate Lanius, waiting. She smiled at him, held up a hand, finger pointed toward him and made a trigger pulling motion.

She wouldn’t have to ask twice.

Boone’s palms felt sweaty, no matter that he had done this countless times before. He had trained for this. He had been living for this moment for the past year. He took a steadying breath, kneeled down, aimed.

The memory came to him unbidden - Carla on display for all of those people, her eyes in his scope, as if meeting his own, telling him it was okay. Her face crumpling under a bullet. A red mist behind her like a halo. For a moment, things blurred. 

Lanius turned, his head whipping to the side. His hand moved to his belt, grasping something. A grenade. Max.

His finger moved over the trigger, caressing it, a gentle pressure - 5 lbs, he knew, to take a life. 

It seemed, in that moment, that he could see the path of the bullet, saw its arc in the sky, cutting through the air, faster than he could ever move, unerringly towards it target.

The sound came, too.

In his scope, he saw Lanius turn toward it. Maybe he saw the bullet, too. For a split second, the legate looked relieved. The bullet hadn’t hit him. But it was only a split second because the explosion happened almost immediately, the small explosion of the gunpowder in the bullet igniting that in the grenade.

The explosion rippled out from there.

Boone shifted his rifle slightly, finding Max in his scope. She stumbled from the blast but was otherwise safe. She stood for a moment, staring at the crater where Lanius and his two guards had been. A smile stole over her features, and she turned, and he knew that she saw him.

Their eyes met in his scope.

She turned toward him, nearly running down the hill to him.

And then the gate blew in. The concussion of air rocked him forward; he took a few unsteady steps closer to Max, who now picked up her pace to join his side, as NCR rangers filed in, the guard attachment to General Oliver himself, who followed behind.

“Caesar on the cross,” he began, approaching Max, “Been a long time since I saw the kind of work you laid down today. A damn long time.”

Max shrugged.

“And the screams of the Legion bastards, as they kicked dirt heading East? Like a choir of angels to my ears. Speaking of...that crazy light show over the fort? What the fuck was that? Some kind of thumb from God that you called down? Amazing. Fucking amazing.”

Boone agreed wholeheartedly.

“Could use a hundred of you,” he continued, “just...scattered over the East like jacks. Give those plumed fucks what’s for.”

Max smiled, “Can’t take all the credit. Had a lot of help from my friends here.” She nodded vaguely to one of the securitrons behind her.

The general’s face fell just slightly, “And, uh...well. These uh...these boys with you? Hello there...smiley.”

The ones from the fort had arrived, timing impeccable, rolling up behind the gates that the NCR troopers had just passed through. Maybe reflexively the general stepped forward, though his eyes flicked to his side, as if trying to look behind him. He stepped closer.

“Guess it’s no secret how you uh...say, can you ask them to put their weapons down? Was just reaching to offer you a cigar.”

She smiled again, pleasant and warm, “General Oliver. Hoover Dam is ours. Please leave at once.”

His face soured immediately, something like a sneer, and he dropped his voice, all pretense gone, “I would sooner spit on the grave of my dead mother than let some...courier-walk-the-wasteland-fuck talk to me like that.”

Boone’s hands tightened on his rifle. Max still smiled. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” He continued, hand coming down like an axe into his other palm, “Looking to cash your chips to the sound of NCR bullets? I can oblige.”

Max dropped her shotgun under her arm, clearly unconcerned, “Look, general, I think there’s been enough violence for one day.”

He scoffed, “I know you’re riding high right now, but you’re not pissing on me right now. You’re pissing on the bear. And you’ve been far enough West to know how far that claw stretches. Fuck with the bear and-“

“General,” she held up a hand, “the NCR has overstayed its welcome. This land does not belong to you or the bear.”

“You want me to make tracks out of here? Just head back west, tail tucked between our legs? No. I came for a fight today, and if you’re looking to make me budge, you’d better have a damn good left hook, or I’m not gonna budge.”

Boone scanned the rangers. Five of them and the general. He had seen plenty of NCR among the dead at the dam. How stretched were they? Did the general really think they could hold here? 

“Because...you’re talking and not attacking…” was all she said in response.

He paused, crossed his arms, “Yeah. Because I didn’t come up _here_ for a fight, but now that we’re talking, I don’t like what I’m hearing. Do you know what you’re doing? Making a nation - like you think you’re going to do - isn’t like chowing down on a box of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes.”

Max snorted.

“Think you’ve got the guts to carve out of a frontier?” The general continued, clearly hoping to intimidate her with the realities of creating a nation, “Build towns, protect the roads, run supplies, train troops?”

Always so patient, he thought, as she replied calmly, “General, I guarantee I’ve put more thought into the state of the Mojave than you or anyone at the NCR.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact. If they had been paying attention, they would have seen that, too. Seemed to work, too.

The general’s shoulders slumped. He looked to the side, rolled his head back, “Aw, hell. I can’t believe we got sucker punched by some road jockey. Should’ve watched the flank while Caesar’s best were making all that noise.”

He turned slightly to look over his shoulder, “I know what those robots of yours can do on a bad day, and I’m not eager to toss lives at them just to prove a point.”

“Your soldiers are safe,” she assured him, “we just want to do things our own way.”

His arms crossed again, shoulders once again straight, “If you’re taking this place, you better hope you can hold it. I’ll give my superiors my opinion, but I don’t think they’re going to listen. So if NCR comes at you, and it will, I pray you’re ready.”

He started to turn away but stopped, “I promise you, if our situation was reversed, I’d see you hang.”

Max was ready to let him go. She arched her eyebrow, unimpressed, about to speak, but Boone wasn’t feeling particularly generous at the moment. He yanked the man back towards them by the collar, speaking directly into his face, “Threaten her again. See how that goes for you.”

In his peripheral, he saw the rangers twitch, but they didn’t move. 

“Boone,” she spoke softly beside him, “I’m sure he’s just nervous. Right, General?”

The fear in his eyes was real, as they flicked from one unfriendly face to the other.

“I helped the NCR a lot while they were here. I certainly hope we can come to some arrangement.”

Boone shoved him back, happy to see the man stumble and fight to keep his balance. The rangers fell in behind him, filing out of the gates, all turning to watch the securitrons who watched passively, as they disappeared.

“Yes Man, let’s keep everyone here until they clear out.”

“That’s a great idea, ma’am!”

She watched them follow behind the rangers for a time before turning to him. 

Boone stared at her for a moment, taking it in. She had done it. She had defeated the Legion, pushed out the NCR, and it was over. It was over.

She flung herself at him, arms around his neck, lips crashing against his. The immensity of what had just happened was lost for a second, as he took her in his arms, lifted her, until she could wrap her legs around his waist. They stood like that for a while, holding each other, as the sun began to rise over the burning remains of the Legion camp. 

He clung to her, held her tight against him, kissed her again and again. She had done it, and she was alive. He was alive. The Legion was running, and with the Mojave free, now so was Max.

For the first time that he could remember, Boone could see a real future ahead of him, free of the Legion, maybe even free of the guilt he had been carrying. But that could come later. 

He pulled away slightly, smiled at Max, and kissed her.


	28. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years after the Mojave won its freedom, two people living on a farm talk about what’s next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this epilogue but wasn’t sure I was going to post it. Then decided to do it. Smutty finale that leaves it kind of open, in case I want to play with these two again.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting and leaving kudos. I’m so pleased to know that my courier was interesting and that I did the voice of Boone justice.
> 
> <3

Cresting the hill, Boone saw the house below - tucked away in the valley, the fence around the perimeter patched since he had left a couple of weeks before. The sun was setting, a breeze coming down from the mountain that cooled the sweat on his skin. He was still some distance away, but he saw the door open anyway. 

His steps quickened, very nearly a run, as he followed the path down to the gate. Max was there now, opening the fence. Rex was sprinting behind her, jumping excitedly around them once he reached her. She was in his arms in an instant, jumping into them and wrapping her legs around his waist, lips crashing against his. He drew his hands down her back, around to cup her thighs and squeeze.

He chuckled against her lips, carrying her back down the walkway to the house. After a few extra kisses pressed against him, Max pulled away, brushing hair back, “How was it?”

“Good,” he nodded, nudging the door open with his foot and supporting Max’s weight with his hands now on her ass, “Cass is expanding like crazy.’

Rex sprinted past them, barking to announce his return, and Boone would have laughed except Max was kissing him again.

He navigated easily enough, though - they had been in the house for almost a year now, and this was not the first time (likely not the last) he had carried her through, half blinded by Max leaning in again and again to kiss him. He trailed a free hand over the door frame to ensure he wasn’t driving her into it on accident.

“When did you get back?”

He lowered her onto their bed, and she tugged at his shirt, “A few hours ago.”

He stripped the material away, watching approvingly as she did the same, “Good timing.”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip, as she shimmied out of her jeans. He worked his down, reaching out absently to swing the door closed before Rex could leap onto the bed. Max’s fingers danced over his abdomen, and he laughed, capturing her fingers in his and leaning to kiss her knuckles, lace their fingers together, “Missed you.”

Max slid back up their bed, tugging him forward until he fell against her, lips finding hers once more.

He traced the curve of her breast with one hand, fingers barely pinching her nipple, enough to see that stutter of breath, the arch in response. They continued over the soft skin of her belly, down to the apex of her thighs, where he drew them between her lips, caressing her clit with a teasing touch. She whimpered against his mouth, so he added more pressure, tight circles against her.

The years they had been together now had changed this for them. The inferno had died down to a simmer, a comfortable warmth that stayed with them but needed a little more stoking for her sometimes. It was his favorite part, he mused, sliding his middle finger further down to press into her. Max sighed, pulled away slightly, “Missed you, too.”

He just smirked, pushing a second finger in, tasting her pulse point. He let his lips linger there a moment before sliding over her clavicle, over the smooth expanse of her breast. When he stroked her inner walls with his fingertips, she whimpered into her arm, stretched over her head.

He had questions for her. He wanted to know how her own journey East had gone, but his palm was starting to get wet, a sign that she was ready for him, and as much as he wanted to draw this out, he had to be inside her.

He slid his fingers back to line himself up at her entrance before caressing her sides, her arms, lacing his fingers with hers, as he pressed into her.

They let out a simultaneous gasp, his forehead dropping against hers. His thrusts were more forceful than they might be normally, but she didn’t seem to mind, whispering incoherently in his ear. She rolled up to meet him, slinging her legs around his thighs to hold him tight against her.

The world outside could wait. Even more so these days, with the Mojave damn near boring. The NCR never had come back, not really, outside of sending an envoy looking to create diplomatic relations.

Boone pressed fully against her, relished in the feel of her arching up against him, skin to skin. He smoothed his hands down, into her hair, tugged her further into the arch to kiss her, savor her. She hummed against his lips. He felt her smile. Still arched, he took the opportunity to caress her back, feeling the curve of her spine.

He was still so delighted by her. Even after the tension of the situation they had come together under had dissipated. They had lived on the farm together in the peace that followed, christened every surface of it, even, and still seeing its shape on the horizon made his heart feel full.

“Welcome home, love,” she whispered against his ear, and he buried his nose against her neck.

Time drifted away. There was just Max and their home. Her muscles fluttered around him, squeezed, released, and she sighed her pleasure. It was more than enough.

After, sated, spread over their bed, she turned to him, stretched on her side and leaning on her hand, “Hey, so…”

“Hmm?”

“There’s been some talk. What would you think…”

She paused, looked away, teeth worrying her bottom lip. He was taken back in time for a moment, remembering so vividly the similar look from their lives before. He smiled, traced her cheek with the back of his hand and admired the blush to followed.

She inhaled, “What would you think about going East?”

The question surprised him. Despite her talk of leaving the Mojave to its own issues, she had remained a leader in the community. Her opinion was sought after, and she was still off on errands for other people most of the time. Maybe that was the problem.

“I’ll go anywhere with you.”

Her smile stole his breath.

“Maybe not forever, I just…”

“Can we take Rex?”

She laughed, “Of course!”

“When do we leave?”

Max paused, gazed at him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too. When do we leave?”

She sighed and snuggled against him, shrugged, “Soon, I guess.”

He reached over, tugging her toward him until she swung a leg over his hip, “Alright. But not too too soon.”


End file.
